Trials of Light and Darkness
by elspeth20
Summary: The start to an ambitious fantasy epic, Trials of Light and Darkness weaves a tale of redemption and sacrifice into the sparks of a world-spanning conflict against an ancient evil. Augmented by a diverse cast of original characters, Trials of Light and Darkness is Frozen fanfiction in a way you've never seen it before. Join Elsa and Hans's adventure today.
1. Prologue

Trials of Light and Darkness

A Frozen Story

Prologue

 _Death is the great egalitarian finality. A beggar dies the same as a king and they are judged not for the weight of their coffers, but for the weight of their soul. Make peace with God on your deathbed, for you have sinned, my son, but your hand never finished the act and your faith may redeem you yet. Keep your head up and die with dignity._

 _Cardinal Melliarch,_

 _to Hans Westergaard_

* * *

A cell in Olympia,

the Southern Isles

October 7th, 1842

The cell was terribly cold, the kind that seeps into the bones and makes the body ache. There was no shelter from the stalking chill; the rags that the cell's single occupant wore were threadbare and offered little warmth with their chafing fibers. All his joints complained of ceaseless contact with stone walls, stone floor, stone bed. Nowhere soft, nowhere warm, no escape from this pit of hell.

Hans thought little anymore. His mind was wholly consumed with a search for warmth, and occasionally with the meager sustenance that he was sustained on, for that brought a momentary hotness in his stomach. The visit from the Cardinal hardly seemed worthy of note; Hans had barely been lucid enough to realize that the man wasn't a vision of the type that the former prince was swept up in so often recently. The visions were welcome, actually; at first the captive had feared what he was sure were signs that he was losing his mind, but as time passed he became ever-more grateful for these fleeting seconds of respite.

The more that the former prince surrendered himself to the visions, the more lucid they became. They featured all the things that he missed most; good food, warm sunshine, the gentle kiss of fresh air. In tantalizingly few, something more. The visions seemed more real to the prisoner than the visit from the Cardinal, although his weary mind warned him that he had mere days left in this life. The word _execution_ lingered at the edge of his more salient thoughts, a haunting specter that reminded him of his failure.

Were Hans able to command his full mental capacity, he would recognize that his parents were desperate to maintain their international standing. A series of poor harvests and an adamant refusal to engage in the imperialistic colonization that the rest of Europe was wholly occupied by had significantly weakened the economy of the Southern Isles. The Westergaard family was reliant, therefore, on the marriage of their thirteen sons into positions of influence throughout the kingdoms of Europe. And Hans had failed them.

Not only had he failed to marry the Princess Anna Siguror, he had cast a black stain upon the family name with his botched regicide of the Ice Queen. Desperate to save face amidst a sea of increasingly hostile foreign powers, the Westergaard family had strongly condemned the actions of the former prince and branded him unstable, uncontrollable. Power hungry. His family had not come to his defense when the kingdoms of Europe had demanded that, per the Congress of Vienna's statutes, the former prince's actions had constituted high treason. His own father had not blinked when the verdict was reached: Hans was to be severed from the bloodline and executed by hanging for his crimes.

This all had come nearly two years ago. The lavish cell of a royal political prisoner that he had occupied before was traded for the feculent box of stone in which he currently languished. Seemingly endless cycles of appeals and postponed hearings had finally been spent, and over three years since his arrest, Hans was to be executed on Tuesday.

But he hardly thought of this; the prisoner had long since come to peace with his impending death. He still feared it, yes, for only the fool does not fear death; but Hans had already been to hell and Satan could do nothing worse to him than had already been done. So it was this peace that found the former prince lying upon the stone cot of his cell the night before his execution, his impending death quite the last thing on his mind.

He felt his extremities, something that had not happened for longer than Hans could remember. They tingled with a strange sensation that the former prince realized was warmth, and he was too far gone to realize that he was beginning another hallucination.

Hans opened his eyes and saw glinting sunlight, felt its gentle warmth kiss every inch of his exposed flesh. He saw that he wore a pressed white military jacket with the epaulets that he had favored in his youth to demonstrate his military captaincy, and realized that he was in the royal gardens in Olympia. The gardens were mere miles from the dungeons in which the prisoner languished, but this vision felt a lifetime away. Hans felt himself walking briskly up a small hillock in the garden, clutching one hand around something behind his back.

A surge of joy filled the former prince as he realized that he remembered this day, a tingling excitement as he anticipated seeing her again. Hans could not control himself; he was merely an observer, occupying this body, unbroken by years of imprisonment, one last time. He felt the confidence in his stride and realized just how broken his limp must currently be. He crept up slowly to the top of the fill where the familiar, bowed willow tree was planted; underneath it he saw the same simple wooden bench of his memory. His entire soul screamed that he should run, tear around the tree and gaze into the face of beauty that awaited him, but his sovereign limbs followed the commands of another man.

Hans crept up behind the tree, peering about it to see a head of golden hair seated at the bench, writing thoughtfully in a diary. The prisoner's heart leapt at the sight of her and he felt his eyes well with emotion, though he knew that the man whose body he occupied was quite far from tears. Her voice, beautiful and light and girlish, floated playfully towards him, quite aware as she was that she was being watched.

"Why, dear diary, I mustn't forget to tell you the most delightful thing that happened today. There were some men from the army on parade in the courtyard today to be inspected by daddy. I came along, of course, because it's such a delight to see the handsome young army fellows, all dressed up in their uniforms. Now, there were some lookers among them, but I'm quite sure that the most handsome of them all gave me eyes as we walked past him…" as the girl finished this sentence she turned and glanced over her shoulder just as Hans presented himself from behind the tree.

"My lady." Hans sunk into a formal bow, taking one of her hands and brushing his lips salaciously to it. The prisoner felt his mouth tingle and wished that the moment had not been so fleeting.

The girl gasped in faux shock and hung her free hand over her heart, saying, "Oh, my, prince Hans! Whoever taught you manners forgot to emphasize that you mustn't listen in on the daydreaming of a young lady!" Even as she reprimanded him, the young lady fluttered long lashes at him.

"My dear Miss James, I assure you that I heard nothing untoward," the prince said with the same bullish confidence that he used to wear as broadly as his epaulets.

"Please," the girl simpered as Hans took a seat on the bench beside her, one hand still clutched behind his back. "Call me Mallory, dear prince. What is it you've got behind your back?" Mallory tried to lean about and see, but the prince shifted his position to keep his hidden object out of view.

"Only," Hans said, chuckling, "if you likewise promise to call me only Hans. Not prince or anything of the sort. You'll embarrass me." He winked at her.

"Oh, all right," Mallory said, laughing as she was now attempting to reach around him. "Hans. You happy? Now what have you got?" More of that light, girlish laugh that made his heart leap.

With a flourish, Hans drew a bouquet of roses from behind his back. "A bouquet of roses, for the only woman that I could ever have eyes for. My dear Mallory."

"Oh, Hans!" Mallory said breathlessly as she took them and held them up to her nose. "They're beautiful!"

"Compared to you, m'dear, they are nothing but a paltry tribute."

Mallory looked up and swatted at him with a hand. "Oh, come off it. You'll swell my head."

Hans laughed and drew his arm around the general's daughter, sitting happily for a moment.

"Do you have a guess, which one of those military boys I fancied?"

"Well, I certainly hope that it was me."

Again the prisoner heard her beautiful, carefree laugh. "I certainly hope that it was you as well, because if it wasn't then mine eyes doth deceive me. Yet, even if they did and I saw another man with your face, dear Hans, I would not trifle for an instant to think that it was you, for I recognize a noble soul when I see one."

At the end of this, she grew more serious, though still warm, and rest her hand against his chest. "And you, my dear prince, have a nobler soul than any I know."

The swelling irony of it all brought bitter, stinging tears to the former prince's eyes. He wanted to scream, _O, but how I deceived us both, my love! The selfsame man that wooed you with acts of selflessness and nobility in his youth would fall lower than the meanest wretch! My own folly caused the death of my only, sweet love, and drove me to commit ever-graver acts of base and vile nature. I am irredeemable._

But the current prince, that man who so little resembled the vile creature that he would become, did not say any of those things. Instead, he merely smiled a sure thing, as if he knew all along, in the end, that of course Mallory James could have eyes for no other man.

Even as Hans opened his mouth to speak again, the prisoner felt that the vision was fading. He began to hear noise in the far distance, as if his head were underwater. Clunking footsteps. Bringing him back from the brink, tearing him away from the lightness and happiness of the memory and returning him to the unforgiving cell of the present.

The footsteps of what sounded to be a pair of men came to a halt outside of Hans's door. He barely registered what this meant until, after some fumbling with the key, there was a thick clunking noise and the door creaked open. Even wan lanternlight was blinding to Hans for several moments and he had to shield his gaze; he heard one of the men place one of the lanterns on the hook just inside his cell.

After a moment, Hans removed his arm to see that two guards remained just outside of the room while a lone man had come inside. He was middle-aged and fairly short, and he wore a limp. The man's hair was lank, and his skin was very pallid. In the lanternlight Hans could see a flash of gold within the man's mouth. With a sudden surge of fear, Hans wondered if his time had come. The prisoner had a difficult time keeping track of the day; he knew that his execution was rapidly approaching. With a rush of finality all the work Hans had done to prepare himself for the end unraveled and the former prince realized that he was not ready to die.

"Leave us alone a moment, if you please," the man said in a gravelly voice. The guards complied, shutting the door to the cell behind them and returning to the end of the hall. The stranger waited until he heard the footsteps of the guards fully retreated before he began to speak.

"I'm fine to stand, thank you very much, this won't take much of your time." A moment's confusion ended with an inborn embarrassment as Hans remembered, from what seemed like another lifetime, that it was rude of him not to have offered the stranger a seat.

"Matter of fact, if all goes well here, you might just gain some time back," the man said enigmatically. "But of course, introductions are in order. I'm already well acquainted with you, Mister Westergaard, but I don't believe that you know who I am."

Hans blankly shook his head, and the man spoke again, smiling a bit as he did so that his golden tooth gleamed in the lanternlight. "My name, to make things simpler, is a secret. But most people these days call me Mister Gold."

Mr. Gold extended his hand and did not have to cross much distance in the tiny cell to shake hands with the prisoner; his grip was firmer than his gaunt figure would imply. Hans found his voice and spoke in a labored tone cultivated by years of disuse. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here to give you a way out, Mister Westergaard. That is, if you're willing to take the plunge." Something horrible and greedy flashed in Mr. Gold's eyes that might have frightened Hans if he wasn't already being confronted with the finality of death. In his current state, however, he saw a lifeline and he grasped for it.

"What do you mean, 'a way out?' Can you get me out of here?" Hans spoke with the manic frenzy of the starving man confronted with a feast.

"I certainly can, Mister Westergaard," Mr. Gold said smilingly, raising a solitary finger just as Hans's eyes began to glimmer with hope. "But…"

"But what?" Hans demanded. If he had imagined that, confronted with death, he might go with dignity, then he was sorely mistaken. He was desperate to cling to even the meager existence he had left. _Coward,_ he heard an inner voice say to him. He pushed it down.

"But," Mr. Gold continued, clearly enjoying having the former prince hang on his words, "You must realize that I cannot do so with law. You are as good as a dead man in the eyes of the Southern Isles."

"What then? Do we escape?" Hans said greedily, his mind already filling with the image of a dashing scoundrel in exile, always on the run.

"Not quite," the gold-toothed stranger said as he drew a gleaming blade from within his coat. "The only tool that I've left to free you with is magic."

Looking warily at the knife and immediately skeptical, Hans withdrew from the man and returned to his cot. "What do you mean, magic?"

"Well, you see, I'm here doing a favor for a longtime friend of mine," Mr. Gold said as he began to slowly pace the floor in front of the prisoner's stone cot, twirling the knife about in one of his gnarled hands. "This friend has a particular use for people such as yourself. People who are about to die, people who are clinging desperately at any chance they might get to soldier on in this world of ours."

"What are you talking about?" Hans had begun to grow scared as this Mr. Gold continued to speak; the prisoner was growing quite certain that this man was going to ask him to do something awful.

"You would go to work for this friend of mine, rather than die, you see. In exchange for the ability to return to this world, you would spend your time in it doing his bidding."

Hans's cowardice disgusted himself, but he found himself say it anyway. "But... I wouldn't die?"

"More or less," Mr. Gold said, that same manic gleam in his face.

"What exactly does this friend of yours use people like me to do?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," Mr. Gold said cryptically. "All small prices to pay to live forever."

There was a long beat in which Hans felt the blood rushing in his ears. "What do I have to do?"

Mr. Gold closed the distance between them now, smiling gleefully, and held the knife out for the former prince. Up close, Hans could see that the hilt was triangular, and its flat sides were covered with runic text that he did not recognize.

"This is a special kind of knife. It's called a 'tensing blade,' and it captures the soul of whosoever it comes to... end. To go to my friend, you must pierce your own heart with this knife."

"What?" Hans felt the blood rushing in his ears grow louder as he looked at the man's hands. All he could see was the gleam of the blade; it was so bright that it burned in the back of eyes and each time he blinked he saw its shimmering outline. "You're trying to get me to commit suicide!"

"Of course I am!" Mr. Gold was growing ever more animated, almost frantic. "You must take a leap of faith, Mister Westergaard, and trust that my friend will be waiting for you on the other side!"

Hans still hesitated, looking uncomfortably at the blade mere inches from his chest.

" _What the hell have you got to lose, man_?" The entrant to the cell was practically yelling now, his fervor having reached a fever pitch. "You'll be dead tomorrow regardless! Take a leap of faith!"

The man's words pounding in his ears above the hammer of his heart, Hans reached out and placed his hands around the hilt of the blade.

"Yes! Yes! Do it!" Mr. Gold was screaming now, and Hans heard the shouts of the guards at the end of the corridor, heard their rushing footsteps. He had little time.

The screams of Mr. Gold sounded faraway in an instant, as if Hans had shoved his head underwater. In the next second he heard only his heartbeat. Once. The prisoner drew his last breath in this life. Twice. He mustered his strength and plunged the knife towards himself. Thrice.

xxx

The guards were required to force open the door to the cell; something or someone on the inside had managed to barricade it. Their shouting subsided as the door fell inwards, revealing that Mr. Gold was nowhere to be seen. All that was left in the cell was the prisoner slumped against the wall, bleeding onto his cot from a horrible wound in his chest. He was already dead.


	2. Chapter One

Arc One

Shadows of the Past

Chapter One

 _Tomorrow, at the request of Montaigne, I will meet with the Bishop Clement for guidance. I really don't think of myself as a religious woman, but all the same Jean-Baptiste is a wise man and I respect his counsel. I don't look forward to replacing Agatha Merke; I've never had to replace a magistrate before, and it's like father left notes behind on how best to do it. The whole matter strikes me at the wrong time. It's not like Merke was even very old._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

The Royal Palace,

Arendelle

October 7th, 1842

Elsa stood upon the balcony adjoining her father's old study, gazing down upon her courtyard and its lethargic preparations for the day. Gilt by the morning's light, a stablehand led a stubborn mule along as it snorted and stomped its feet in protest. Smoke was just barely beginning to rise from chimneys out across the city beyond the palace as her people rose to make breakfast. A flock of migratory birds passed by overhead, honking their goodbyes to the nation as they headed south for the oncoming winter.

Elsa had many things upon her mind as she absently twirled the end of her braid around and around one of her fingers, not least of which the turning of the seasons. She was well aware that, even though she was now confident in her abilities to control her powers, the state had seen longer and harsher winters even since it had crowned her queen. Her magistrates assured her that weather patterns were cyclical, and this was merely a normal patch of long winters, and my lady, if you were alive during the winters from 1811-1814, you wouldn't think these ones were so bad after all.

The Ice Queen didn't believe them. Elsa was well aware that it was the release of her powers that was strengthening their winters; although she wasn't actively trying to use her magic during the wintertime, there was no other explanation that quelled her worrying. As a matter of fact, Elsa wasn't trying to use her powers at all. She wasn't hiding them anymore, but the ice queen realized that there was little use for magic in the world of statecraft. It bothered her, sometimes, that the thing that made her most special was something that didn't help her very much in the life that she led.

Elsa absently flicked her hand as she gazed down into the courtyard, a small flurry of snow whipping up about her in frustration. _Of course my powers aren't going to help me,_ the Ice Queen thought to herself. _They're not really going to help me with any job, save, I don't know, mercenary or something._ Elsa snorted. _Or ice master._

Elsa was still deep in thought when she heard the door behind her open. Without turning, she knew that it must be her master servant; others did not dare disturb her when she appeared to be introspective.

"You know, miss, it's a bit late in the season for such a light gown," the good Montaigne said as he stepped out onto the balcony, carrying with him a tray of tea. "I would certainly advise you to put something on to ward off the chill, if I didn't know better."

Elsa smiled as she accepted a cup of tea from her master servant, placing her other hand on his shoulder and saying as she glanced out again upon the courtyard, "Thank you, Montaigne. I was just thinking that I could use a bit of a pick-me-up."

"Black tea with a drop of honey, miss. Just the same as always."

There was an amicable silence as the queen and her aged servant gazed upon the courtyard. Not for the first time, Elsa felt a surge of gratitude towards Montaigne for taking the position of master servant. In the queen's youth he had served as the royal tutor, but upon Elsa and Anna's coming-of-age, he had insisted that he remain as a personal servant to the girls. This was, to be sure, a demotion in status, and his willingness to do so spoke volumes about the man's character. He was great of heart and white of hair, always impeccably groomed and with a good and kind demeanor.

"Will you accompany me to the church, Montaigne?" Elsa glanced sidelong at her master servant, trying hard as she might that she not smile. She knew that Montaigne and the Bishop were friends, of a certain variety.

Her inimitable servant, unshakeable as always, merely smiled a bit wryly. "I wouldn't dream of requiring the Queen to attend such a meeting alone, without the support of any of her servants.

"Of course you wouldn't. Where would I be without you, master servant?" Elsa turned a bit, ready to return inside for the day, but stopped herself as a thought struck her. "How do you suppose I should dress? I mean, something somber of course, but do you think that I should dress for mourning? I mean, I didn't really know Merke –"

"Just a muted color should be appropriate, miss."

xxx

The Saint Adelaide Cathedral was a gigantic structure, completed just five years ago and dedicated to the legendary, possibly apocryphal saint who banished the plague from Arendelle in the fifteenth century. Its tallest spire rose to over 140 mind-bending meters, the country's shining, modern answer to the Strasbourg Cathedral. A magnificent façade of stained glass depicting the virgin Mary towered over the queen's carriage as she stepped down from it.

The queen had not been to the church since her coronation, and it was no less intimidating now with the crown atop her head. This was a place where her authority was second to another power. She ascended the steps to the cathedral quickly, followed a step behind by her master servant. Elsa wore a modest, floor-length gown of midnight blue and wore a similarly dark shade of eyeliner to complement it, very much a picture of the queen who had suffered the loss of a close advisor.

To be truthful, even as Elsa was admitted to the church by a lesser preacher, she did not miss Merke as much as her garb would imply. Agatha Merke, her late magistrate, was in life a woman of great severity. She had been a middle-aged, bespectacled woman with a tight, brunette bun, a sharp tongue, and a conservative mind. Lost in thought as she was, Elsa hardly followed the chambers of the cathedral through which she was led until she heard a rap against the bishop's door.

Elsa looked up to see that the preacher who had led them had done the knocking. "Bishop Clement. Queen Elsa is here to meet with you."

Just as the man finished speaking, he bowed his head and retreated from the room, leaving the queen and her master servant alone with the Bishop. The door clicked behind them.

Jean-Baptiste Clement was handsome in his age, a tall, silver-haired man with a powerful jaw and the simple robes of a penitent. His chamber was likewise simply adorned, with several bookshelves and its magnificent desk as its only trappings. The Bishop stood and smoothed his robes with one hand as he flourished the other into a deep bow.

"Your highness. It is a pleasure in the utmost. Please, have a seat." The aged man motioned to the seats before him, and Elsa noticed with a nonzero satisfaction that _two_ chairs had been prepared.

Elsa and Montaigne took the proffered seats and the queen crossed one leg over the other, clasping her hands in her lap and attempting to project as much confidence and authority as she could muster.

"Thank, you, father. Your hospitality is very generous and your advice on this matter will be very welcome."

"Of course." A side door to the room opened and a servant entered, carrying a tray of tea; the servant set it upon the table, bowed to both Bishop and queen, and retreated from the room. "Do you prefer sugar, your highness?"

Elsa politely declined and Montaigne accepted a cup with a single lump of sugar, and they settled back. Elsa wondered whether she was expected to approach the subject first but the Bishop answered her question for her.

"Agatha Merke was a great friend to this church, always very generous in her tithing. I am sure that I need not enumerate to you how truly great the nature of her loss is, your highness."

"Yes. She served my father for many years before myself, altogether dedicating more than half her life to the service of our nation." Elsa found herself resorting to the talking points that her speechwriters had provided her the day that Merke had passed. She cursed herself as the Bishop chuckled.

"I am terribly sorry, your highness. I tend to forget that, although you certainly are your father's daughter, your tenure as ruler has been short. I certainly cannot hope to expect that you will have had a lifetime to befriend your advisors."

Elsa dipped her head, embarrassed but grateful that Clement excused her. To the queen's surprise, Montaigne spoke up.

"I recommended that my lady seek your counsel, Jean, because I know that your blessing will provide much in the way of legitimacy to her selection." More was said, to be sure, between the two than Montaigne's words alone could imply, and Elsa suddenly felt like a child, lost in a conversation with two adults. It was terrifying.

"Of course, Arno." Clement turned to peer at the queen with a hazel gaze. "I am, as you can no doubt imagine, well-connected with the academic and social elites of this nation and many others. I can offer you many recommendations, all men and women well-suited to the position, but of course we can narrow the field substantially by determining the qualities that you would search for in an advisor."

Elsa knew exactly what she was looking for, but she suddenly realized that putting her wishes into words felt impossible. "Well, I…"

Montaigne picked up the queen's slack, saying, "My lady's platform for the coming year is very progressive. We plan to make inroads towards the abolition of sodomy laws, at least the ones referring to same-sex relations. In addition, the queen wishes to propose a more progressive tax law and comprehensive welfare reforms."

Elsa turned to face Clement, searching his face for any sign of change at these mentions, but the Bishop's face remained pleasant.

"That's an ambitious platform, your highness, and to complement it I would recommend nothing less than an ambitious appointment."

Montaigne glanced at the queen sidelong and smiled just a bit, as if to prove himself right. Elsa placed her cup of tea back upon the table, surprised but happy that her ideas were well-received by the Bishop.

"Do you have someone in mind, father?" Elsa cocked a single eyebrow.

"As a matter of fact, your highness, I do. I hold a professorial position at Lannister University, and I happen to know quite well a young woman who earned her law degree just last spring. She is young, but still several years older than you and well-learned. Besides, your father's father appointed Vander when he was only twenty-four, so such a move is not without precedent. Her name is Odette Marie Novare, and if you'd like to meet her I can arrange for this to occur at your convenience."

Elsa was shocked. She had figured this all would be so much more difficult – could it really be that the Bishop had already referred her to the woman who would replace Agatha Merke?

"Um, yes. Yes. That would be very good of you, father."

"Excellent. Now, that settled, I'll attempt to persuade your highness to consider our church for your Sunday services. It would do a great deal of worshippers good to see their queen participating in the Mass."

Elsa found herself caught in another pincer entirely, one that she was certainly unprepared to deal with. On the face of the state, Elsa was a non-institutional Christian who preferred to keep service in the privacy of the castle. She even employed a special minister who held weekly services in a special room designated for Mass, but Elsa never attended them. Much of the castle staff did, including Montaigne; it was one of the more difficult feats of her young monarchy that none of the many men and women involved had let the secret out.

She recovered, so quickly that she was sure the infinitesimal change in her face went undetected. "I'm flattered, father, but I prefer to keep my faith in my own way. I'm sure you're aware that royals have a very personal connection with God."

"Of course, your highness." Clement looked somewhat disappointed but covered it with excellent tact. "Might we count on you, at the very least, for Christmas services this coming winter?"

Late December felt so far away right now that the queen found herself agreeing to placate the man before she had really considered.

"Excellent, simply excellent. I just know that your people will be very excited to see you there, your highness. And as for Odette Novare, I'll let her know that the queen requested an audience and make sure that all of the ends meet."

To Elsa's relief, Clement stood again, bowed, and opened the door for the young queen.

"It was such a pleasure, your highness. And always, of course, an honor. Please, do come again soon, your highness; the doors of Saint Adelaide's are always open."

Elsa performed a small curtsy for the man and led the way out, saying, "Thank you, father. Your hospitality was most generous, and I look forward to meeting your Novare."


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 _The wizard traded his past for his future and found he died young._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Purgatory

October 8th, 1842

The next thing that Hans remembered was standing on the shores of a dark river. The river was without beginning and seemingly without end, meandering endlessly in either direction as far as the former prince could see. He was in a world of brimstone, a desolate wasteland that was flat and featureless until an indistinct horizon. He could see neither sun nor moon but the sky burned, currents of flame dancing like aurora miles above. The air smelled of clay and sulfur and the whole place seemed to exist without a concept of time.

Time meant nothing to the former prince; he had no idea how long passed before anything changed. He did not walk in either direction, for what was the point if all the world was the same? He did not speak or move or scarcely hear himself breathe. A gondola was there and Hans accepted it readily, for how could he know that it had not been there all along?

The figure aboard the gondola was at least eight feet tall and cloaked all in black from head to foot. Its hood hid any recognizable features but the hands, the horrible hands that emerged from the creature's sleeves to grip at its pole, were the hands of a rotten corpse. The figure was as silent as a shade, yet it slowly extended a hand towards the former prince. Even without any verbal instruction, Hans could tell what the figure wanted him to do.

Hans reached into the pocket of the trousers he wore and was not surprised to find two coins among them. The coins were made of clay and he realized that he must have smelled them earlier. Hans stepped onto the rear of the gondola and tentatively extended his hand, palm down and curled around the coins, towards the silent figure. Hand trembling a bit and careful not to touch the rotting hand, Hans dropped the two coins into its palm.

Immediately the figure's hands curled around the coins and it was turned forwards, poling them away from the shore. Though the river did not rise in either direction, Hans could instinctively tell that they were moving downstream. They moved like this for a meaningless amount of time; it could have been ten minutes or a century. In the same way that everything seemed to materialize in this strange land, Hans became aware that on the distant horizon an ancient ziggurat was visible and growing larger in their approach.

The river seemed to head directly towards the ziggurat and Hans concluded that this must be their destination. All the while the figure remained silent, poling them along with an eerily symmetric force; every stroke was exactly the same as the one that came before it and perfectly predicted the stroke that came after. The former prince stared at the pole that the creature propelled them along with and became mesmerized by its slow, repetitive movements.

The former prince found that, if he continued to stare at the water after the pole stopped upsetting it, the surface became quite clear, almost glassy. The riverbed was very dark but there was a forest of distinct shapes along it, some rising higher towards the surface than others. Hans leaned down to stare closer at them, reaching out over the surface of the water for a reason he could not quite determine. As he leaned further over the surface it almost seemed that the shapes were moving towards him, reaching towards the surface of the water to be free from their watery grave.

Hands, many of them, all rotting and skeletal, burst through the surface of the water, all of them clutching towards the former prince, trying to pull him into the water. Hans let out a sudden shout and stumbled backwards, falling upon the gondola's surface and scrambling away as the corpses fell motionless and sank again below the surface. Breathing heavily, Hans turned to see if the figure had turned to look, had even noticed. The same as ever, it silently poled them along towards the ziggurat, facing the distant temple the entire time.

Gasping for breath, heart hammering like a gun, Hans returned his body to the center of the rearmost divide in the gondola and did not gaze into the water anymore.

Even as sudden and as gripping the moment with the corpses had seemed, soon all was quiet and all was the same again, that endless approach towards the ziggurat. After a time it seemed that the temple was finally growing closer, and then in an instant it was upon them. A yawning entrance to the ziggurat opened over the river, which ran directly into the temple. Now that they were upon the temple and rapidly approaching its entrance, it rose so far above them that it began to blot out the light from the sunless sky.

The soft noises of the figure's poling were amplified as they entered the temple, the only light now derived from torches mounted on either side of the wall at regular intervals, just enough that they were never truly cast into shadow. In the flickering torchlight Hans almost could not make out the form of the figure leading the gondola ever-deeper into the ziggurat. For the first time since the former prince found himself in this place, he became apprehensive. He realized that he did not know what was coming.

Mr. Gold had told him that his path was an alternative to death, but if this was not Hans being brought to his final judgment, the former prince wasn't sure what it was. He turned to gaze upon the walls of the ziggurat in the brief areas where they were outlined by flickering light, and saw engraved upon the walls strange images of men and vultures intertwined in bestial embrace. He saw a particularly gruesome image of a group of vulture-men who had dismembered one of their own and a horse.

In the next panel, Hans saw that the two dismembered figures had been sewn together in a disturbing mockery of nature, a bird-centaur that held a long, wicked scythe. The former prince shuddered and turned away. Returning his gaze forwards Hans found that the river ended ahead.

As they reached the stone bank, Hans saw that he was not to be left alone. There were three more figures waiting for him on the bank and a stone bed with a pure white cloth upon it. The figures awaiting him wore masks of gold and lapis lazuli, had bare chests and held what appeared to be surgical instruments.

Hans saw the knives and hooks that these figures held and, with a strange lack of fear, began looking about for any means by which to fight or escape. He saw none and momentarily contemplated diving overboard and trying to swim to safety before remembering the forest of corpses beneath the surface. The gondola came to a halt and the figure who had led Hans here motioned towards the others about the altar. It was time to depart now.

Hans felt a strangely empty emotionlessness as he disembarked and stepped onto the cold stone of the ziggurat. Just as silently as it had came, the gondola turned and began to retreat into the distance as the masked figures came towards the former prince.

He did not attempt to fight as they placed icy cold hands on his arms and led him towards the stone bed. He lay upon the white cloth and felt a strange tingling as one of the figures slid a knife underneath his shirt. The places where it touched his skin felt as if they were being kissed by ice, but Hans realized that he was not being touched by the blade's edge. The figure ran the knife through his prison smock and split it wide; the other figures disrobed the former prince of his trousers in a similar manner.

They removed his undergarments and he wondered if this was an attempt to shame him in the face of death, as well. He raised his head and looked down upon the body that had once been so muscular, so handsome. An emaciated frame jarred his senses, every single rib visible and framed against a sunken stomach. The knives flashed and Hans lowered his head back onto the cloth upon stone, closing his eyes as steel suddenly bit his flesh.

Hans did not feel pain as he had expected to, rather a strange, tingling sensation as his skin was pulled free from his chest cavity and his ribs snapped like branches. He realized that they were going to remove his heart, but it was quick, impossibly quick: he felt hands work in his chest for a moment and felt several cuts from the knife and opened his eyes to see one of the masked figures holding a human heart delicately in its hands.

The heart was motionless, not beating, though the former prince supposed that he wouldn't have expected it to be. He still did not dare look at his chest as he followed the heart-bearer with his gaze; the masked figure removed the organ to another stone table nearby and deposited it into a simple masonry jar, which it promptly sealed. Hans saw that there were no other jars prepared and frowned. He had imagined that their might be one for each of his organs, but this did not seem to be the case.

Almost as quickly as the dissection had begun, it had ended too. One of the figures was placing pristine ribs into the cavities where the previous ones had been snapped away, and they sealed there easily, naturally. Another had threaded a needle with a strangely gossamer thread and began to sew up the cavity that had been so suddenly rent.

Within a few moments the figures were done and they retreated several feet from the stone bed. The one who had taken the former prince's heart now held the jar, and for the first time, spoke to him.

"Our master tells us that we are not to complete your passage," the masked figure said in a quiet, rasping voice. "He told us that we were to take your heart, and your heart alone. We are to keep it here, for safekeeping. While your heart remains in purgatory you will remain neither dead nor living, able to pass through both realms but unable to call either home."

Hans shakily turned upon the altar and sat on the edge as the two lesser masked figures provided him with a soft, white robe. He pulled it over his head and looked down; what he had at first assumed to be little more than a shift was actually a stylized toga that seemed reminiscent of the ancient Greeks.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Hans's own voice sounded weak and raspy, and he hated it.

"Follow me." The foremost of the masked figures passed Hans's heart to the others, who departed down a passageway on the other side of the room. Hans followed behind the first of them and was led through another door. They walked for another, meaningless length of time down this passageway in complete darkness; Hans could only follow the footsteps of the masked figure before him and hope that there were no obstructions in his path.

When they reached the double doors at the end of the passageway the first of the masked figures had mysteriously gone. Wondering where it possibly could have disappeared to, Hans was grateful that at least here two torches stood beside the doors, which appeared to be wrought entirely from gold. Engraved into their surfaces were the same sort of twisted images that the former prince had encountered while on the gondola. There were no guards or anything else of the sort beside the doors, so Hans took a deep breath and pounded the knocker three times.

No sooner had the ringing of his ears faded than the doors silently opened to admit Hans. He stepped onto a narrow path, no wider than the hallway that he had left, which spanned perhaps fifty feet across the room, opening onto a platform many times wider at the other end of the room. Upon this platform sat a magnificent golden throne lit by double braziers positioned on either side and by the spectral blue flames that curled about the head of the deity that sat upon it.

"Hans, formerly the prince of the Southern Isles. Mr. Gold told me that I should expect you." As Hans began to approach along the path, he saw that the deity had pointed yellow teeth to complement its taught blue skin, stretched over a face that looked awfully like a skull.

He turned sideways and saw a seemingly endless drop into a black abyss below the path on either side, and stuck closer to the center. Once he had come within twenty feet of the throne, now on the wider, rectangular platform and blissfully no longer beside such a precarious edge, the deity spoke again.

"I am, as you are no doubt aware, Hades. Prince of Death, Master of the Underworld, and King of Getting Screwed Over by His Brother."

Hans was totally silent, confused and at a loss for words. He hadn't expected the Prince of Death to act so casually, not in a great stretch of the imagination.

"That was a joke. You, uh, have permission to laugh at it." Hades flicked a wrist as his brow flattened. After another moment of silence, he continued. "Alright, fine. Whatever." Added under his breath, "It's not like that was my 'A' material, anyway."

"So," Hades rapidly cut off the end of his last, muttered sentence by saying, "It's nice to see that you got through all of the rituals without instruction. I, uh, I've been wondering whether I should make some changes to the rituals, and I've been using the last couple of entrants to Hell as, uh, you know –" Hades gesticulated as he spoke, snapping his fingers repeatedly now. "Uh, a focus group, to see if things would still run smoothly if nobody spoke until the rituals were complete."

Hans stood in stunned silence.

"Because, you know, it seemed like it would be more intimidating. With silence." Hades looked at Hans. "How did you feel about it all? Were you intimidated?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so." Hans wasn't sure what he expected from Hades, but it wasn't this.

"Excellent. I'll keep it that way, then. Anyway, I suppose I should stop wasting your time and get to the point." Hades cleared his throat and drew a long roll of parchment from within one of his sleeves.

"So, Hans, you're here because of a pretty lucky coincidence. The last servant that I had in your world just recently, well, disintegrated. Nasty business, actually. Hell of a mess. Heh heh." Hans wondered why Hades had chuckled until the pun hit him. He almost groaned aloud.

"Her name was something-Gothel. I never got to know her super well – she was unpleasant and pretty difficult to work with. Anyway, now that she's gone, I have an opening for another mortal servant."

"You can only have one at a time?" Hans said, his voice rough.

"Yes, it has to do with the way I bind your soul to me, and a lot of boiler plate that we needn't get into right now. Anyway, you have experience with something very particular that I look for in my servants, so when I learned from Mr. Gold that you were slated for death, I had him go to you and extend the offer."

"What do I have experience with that you search for?" Hans could think of nothing; his mind was almost painfully blank.

"You, my soon-to-be faithful servant, have experience with magic."


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 _I'm meeting with Novare later today to see if she is truly a good fit for the magistrate's position. Until the meeting, however, I have other business to attend to._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

The Houve

Outskirts of Arendelle

October 10th, 1842

"It is a great pleasure to entertain such a distinguished guest, your highness." The overweight, middle-aged man seated himself across a coffee table from the queen in the parlor of this lonely ranch called the Houve.

"Of course, mister Merke. I felt that I should offer personal condolences to you after such a loss." Elsa had no idea that one of her counselors had lived in a rustic ranch nearly four miles from the city limits, but she liked the place. It might be rough around the edges, but it was peaceful up here in the mountains.

Merke and his daughter, a young woman who kept around the house to perform domestic tasks, it appeared, were both dressed in somber tones, and Merke wore a black band about his upper arm. As Elsa spoke, the man's daughter walked into the room bearing a tea tray and set it demurely onto the coffee table between them. She retreated to her father's chair and sat against the arm, not meeting the queen's gaze.

"That is very kind of you," Merke said as, with shaking hands, he dolloped two cubes of sugar into a saucer. He then glanced up at the queen, who flicked a hand. He passed a cup with no sugar to her, and she murmured thanks.

"I'm not going to pretend to you that I can relate to your loss. I but knew Agatha in an advisory capacity, and for only a relatively short time at that. However, I can readily tell you that she served me with good faith and vigor all the time that I knew her."

"Thank, you, your highness. Your words of kindness are very welcome." Merke and his daughter looked devastated, and it made Elsa's insides squirm. It made what she was trying to do seem callous, disrespectful to the family's loss. But it needed to be done.

"Agatha was very young to pass so unexpectedly," Elsa said carefully, watching Merke's face for a reaction. He merely stared at the cup in his hands.

"Yes. Yes she was."

"If she was ill for any time at all before her passing, she certainly always seemed to me to be in the best of health regardless."

Elsa felt cruel for probing at Merke's loss, but she had a growing hunch that Agatha had not died naturally. Montaigne had dismissed this notion on the whole; after all, who would assassinate an advisor instead of the queen? And yet Elsa was quite certain that something about it all didn't add up. Healthy forty-year old's didn't just keen over and die.

"No, your highness. I was quite sure that Agatha was in good health just the day before. Truly, it was an act of horrible fate."

Elsa heard the painfully earnest truth in the man's words. He truly did not believe that Agatha had had any health problems at all before her death, and who better to know her than her own husband? This smelled increasingly of murder most foul. But the trail would have to lie fallow for the rest of the day; the queen's appointment with Novare was soon and it wouldn't look well to miss it.

So the queen offered repeated condolences to the Merke family, assured them that their royal pension would ensure that they need never work again, and reminded them that their family would always be a friend to the crown's. And she took her leave, her thoughts still on foul play when she stepped back into her carriage.

xxx

"Where to now, your highness?"

"Huh?" Elsa was startled out of her reminiscence by her driver, who had hopped down from his seat to peer through the carriage window at her. He looked bashful at having interrupted her thought.

"You, uh, earlier you mentioned that we would have one more stop after this one, your majesty."

"Yes. Of course. Lannister University. When we pass through Fayborough buy us both some food and drink." She reached into her coin purse and handed the driver two golden crowns.

"Will do, your majesty." The driver, really no more than a boy of perhaps fifteen, saluted her with a chipper air and hopped back onto the driver's box.

Lannister University was a good while away, well outside of Arendelle, on the other side of the mountain pass. Both the University and its closest town, Fayborough, still payed sovereignty to Elsa and Arendelle, but they were several hours ride away. Traveling through the countryside served as a reminder to Elsa that her domain stretched further than Arendelle's city limits.

The grounds of Lannister University were picturesque; the castle which had, in the middle ages, belonged to the Oranges, now served as the campus for one of the finest higher education institutions in Northern Europe. Drawing through the gates, Elsa gazed about at the tall, gothic buildings and gardens dotted with autumn leaves. It looked every bit the same as she remembered it from the one visit of her childhood.

When she was far younger, before she had hurt Anna and been imprisoned, the queen had been taken here once, on a trip by Agnarr. He had told her that she would one day study in these great halls, learn the finest points of mathematics, science, philosophy and law that Norway could offer her. She often regretted that her life had not taken this route.

No instead, she had been imprisoned, shut off from the world, made to hide who she really was. And then, of course, her parents had died and she had been prematurely crowned queen. It seemed there was no time in her life for dalliances like higher education. Off and on since the Great Thaw, Elsa had tried to bring herself to recommend that Anna enroll at Lannister. She'd always been able to control her power better when Anna was around, however, so in her selfishness the queen found excuses to let it be.

Elsa was broken from her thought as the carriage came to a halt in the University's circle. The queen smoothed her dress. She had been told that Novare would be waiting to receive her in the lobby of the law building, and as Elsa stepped down from the carriage and gazed about the circle, she realized that she couldn't tell the buildings any different from one another. Just as she began to wonder how she would find out where to go, a portly man came rushing down the steps from the building just ahead of her, straightening his cravat as he did.

"Your highness! I had no idea that Lannister University would be enjoying your company today, or I would certainly have prepared something in your honor!" The portly man wheezed to a halt before her and bowed dramatically. His toupee nearly came off of his head, reminding Elsa of a man who had been imprisoned on her account.

"Maxwell Dupont, your highness. The humble president of Lannister University at your service."

"Charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. President," Elsa said as she curtsied for him. "And thank you for your generosity, but I'm only making a relatively short personal call, I regret to inform you."

"Of course, your highness. Perhaps sometime soon we might convince you to make a longer visit. Have you considered enrolling your sister? We offer many excellent courses in international affairs and statecraft."

Elsa smiled tightly. "Perhaps, Mr. President. In the meanwhile, if you could merely point me towards the law building?"

"Your highness, I would be no sort of gentleman unless I insisted upon accompanying you there!" Dupont offered his arm to the queen, who took it and allowed the jovial man to lead her along a cobbled pathway through the gardens.

Blissfully, Dupont did not again mention enrolling Anna; perhaps he had sensed that the subject was one to tread lightly upon. Instead, he regaled her with the accomplishments of the University, which all seemed quite cutting-edge; if they were not on the forefront of any field of science or philosophy that you pleased, they were certainly about there. When they reached the law building, the gentlemanly Dupont bowed her many times into the building and promised that his offices were always open to Arendelle's beloved queen.

After multiple days so close together of meeting sickeningly polite men twice or thrice her age who insisted on acting the part of a man far, far below her station, Elsa hoped that this Novare just treated her like another human.

Elsa entered a grand lobby with a sweeping balustrade and a double staircase. It looked very much like an old manor house, except for that it was bustling with students. It was apparently between classes, and Elsa quickly took hold of her traveling cloak and folded it over her arm, stepping into the crowd. It was with great joy that the ice queen found that the students surrounding her took absolutely no notice of her. Perhaps it was the lack of her crown, perhaps it was she was about the same age as the students, or perhaps these young men and women wouldn't recognize their queen on sight anyhow. Elsa supposed that, the farther she was from Arendelle, the more likely this was to be the case.

She stepped unceremoniously from the crowd of students, having fought her way into a vacant space beside one of the grand staircases, and saw a young woman sitting upon a bench just to her right. Elsa pushed an errant strand of hair behind an ear and stepped closer to the woman, clearing her throat.

"Excuse me?" The woman, a pretty young brunette wearing a bun and dark eye shadow, did have the appearance of a girl who was waiting for someone. She turned to face Elsa.

"Are you Novare? I mean, are you Odette?" Elsa corrected herself, deciding to opt for a first name. After all, she wanted Novare to treat her like an equal, right?

"Oh my – your highness," Novare said suddenly, stepping up from the bench and falling into a deep curtsy.

"It is - such a pleasure to meet you," the girl said in a light, breathy voice.

"Please, Odette, call me Elsa." The ice queen glanced about and frowned at the crowd of students, which wasn't really thinning. "Um, is there somewhere we could speak that's a bit, well, quieter?"

The girl flushed. "Of course, your-your- Elsa," she stammered. "Just follow me."

Novare led them through the double doors below the grand staircase and down a quieter hallway, eventually turning into a small office and shutting the door behind them, motioning for the queen to sit in a simple, upholstered chair before the desk.

"Professor Gretsky is currently on a lecturing tour in Moscow," Novare said by way of explanation as she sat on the other side of the desk. "And, um, I'm allowed to use the offices of any professor that's away," she finished lamely.

"Are you an associate professor?" Elsa asked curiously. She glanced at the bookshelf behind Novare, spotting titles such as _The Prince_ and _Leviathan._

"Well, not really, not yet. I won't get that title until I start teaching classes; in the meantime I'm mostly just an assistant to the professors in the law college. If all goes well I should be made an associate next spring. Well, I mean, unless of course…" Novare trailed off, clearly not sure exactly how to explain that it would be different if she ended up a magistrate.

"Well, about that," Elsa said, laughing lightly. "I just might make you a different offer. But first I'll need to learn a bit about you."

Novare fell quiet in anticipation and nodded once.

"Where are you from originally?"

"Marseilles. When I turned eighteen I was referred to the University by one of my tutors and they offered me a full scholarship, so I traveled all the way up to Lannister."

"How old are you, exactly?"

"Uh, twenty-six this December." Novare looked bashful, even ashamed at that. Elsa wondered if it was common knowledge exactly how young she was in Arendelle's magnet towns. In fact, she altogether wondered how much about her was common knowledge, period.

"The Bishop Jean-Baptiste Clement shared some of your work with me the other day. It's quite progressive. In particular, a treatise you wrote about the rights of laborers caught my attention." Elsa again saw Novare squirm a bit.

"Well, I mean, it may not all be the most practical, but I think that you might agree, your highness, -"

"Elsa," the ice queen cut her off politely. "And Odette, I'm very glad that your work is so ambitious. Because I plan to try and affect exactly this sort of change with my rule."

Novare looked up, quite surprised. "You do?"

Elsa smiled and raised one eyebrow. "Exactly that sort. And if you can promise me that you believe as much in your writing as I do, then I would love to offer you a position on the Magistrate's Council."

"Yes." Novare said immediately and passionately, eyes wide and voice breathless.

"Now, Odette, I have to warn you, It's demanding work, and none of the other magistrates are quite as forward-thinking as we."

"Yes. I'll do it. I'd love to do it, your- Elsa."

Elsa tried not to smile, tried as she might to remain cool and composed like a real monarch would; she retrieved from her purse a sheaf of papers and handed them to Novare.

"Excellent. Those papers detail the legalities of your acceptance of the position as well as any other technicalities involved. Court opens again on November 18th, and I'll be beginning the proposition of the New Year's platform, so I'll need you in Arendelle two weeks before to help prepare it. Can you manage that?"

Novare was speed-reading the papers that had been handed to her, and without looking up, she said, "Be in Arendelle by November 4th? The law professors will have to find someone else to assist them for the rest of the fall semester, but this is more important. Yes. Yes, I can do it."

Elsa held out a hand and Novare eagerly took it. "Welcome aboard, Odette."


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 _If anyone had told me that Hades would have been so sarcastic and petulant and lonely, I would've laughed, at first. Of course, if I thought about it for a little while, though, it would start to make a lot of sense._

 _Hans Westergaard_

* * *

Hades's Temple

The Edge of Hell

October 8th, 1842

"I have experience with magic?" Hans echoed, unsure that he had heard correctly.

"Yes, yes, you've fought magic," Hades said, gesticulating with his hands, trying to draw a female figure in the air. "The young lady what rules Arendelle now, Ilsa, or something."

"I mean, I didn't really ever fight her," Hans said. "I tried to kill her, and, and it didn't even work."

"Well, perhaps, but the body can be trained. So can the mind, actually, but I've had thousands of years to learn that my servants fare better when they already had experience with magic in life. It's the sort of thing that's best introduced through firsthand experience. You already have experience dealing with spellcasters, so the first time that you encounter one under my employ, you're gonna be far less likely to do something stupid and get yourself killed. You know what to expect. Moreover, you have a healthy distaste for magic, which my previous servant… lacked."

"What do you mean by all this? What am I supposed to do for you anyhow?"

"Ah. Yes. How silly of me." Hades narrowed his eyes as he looked down upon the former prince, and Hans was clever enough to realize that the deity was contemplating how much information to divulge to him. "You are going to be my agent on earth. Part spy, part assassin. My right hand."

Hans gulped. He didn't feel qualified for this kind of job, and yet for some reason Hades had chosen him.

"Look, kid, I can tell what you're thinking, you have it written all over your face. I don't expect any of my servants to enter the underworld already prepared for every task that I might throw at them. Far from it. Mr. Gold helps me to recruit servants that will be loyal and already have the right kind of mind for the job. Last time he screwed up pretty badly, and I'm really hoping that you'll be better.

"Your first task will coincide with All Hallow's Eve. You'll have until then to prepare, and I have every confidence that you'll be ready by then. If not, we may have to reconsider the terms of your employment."

Hans gulped. He had lost track of time during his imprisonment, but he was keenly aware that he did not have long to prepare. "I have until then to condition myself for what? Physical combat?"

"Yes, in part. You'll soon see all that I have in store for you. You'll be training around the clock with masters of their craft, so you better make me proud, kid."

Hans nodded, fear of failure more than anything else motivating himself to say, "I will."

The next days were the most grueling Hans could remember. They saw implemented a ceaseless regimen of mental and martial training, preparation for even more horrible tasks as the devil's hand. At least in prison he was left to languish; here in Hell there was no rest for the wicked. Quite literally so; Hans found that he needed far less sleep now, and this fact was taken advantage of by the former prince's mentors to push him to his limits in every way.

More than once Hans wondered if he really hadn't cut any sort of deal with the devil, for this certainly felt like eternal torture. And yet, just as he no longer seemed to need sleep quite so much, his muscles seemed not to need rest either. Though they screamed and protested at their new abuses, he found that they continued to grow stronger, day by day and without so much as a break, save for the time he spent conditioning his mind and a few hours each night. The tenth of October found the former prince sitting on a stone bench in one of many training rooms, covered in sweat and bruises, stripped down to his undergarments and breathing heavily.

Contrane came to sit upon the bench beside the former prince, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That set makes fifty. Probably good for today."

The swordmaster Hades had recruited to train Hans was more along the lines of what the former prince had expected from hell. It was a skeleton, though it retained its personality, ability to speak, and evidently its ability to wield a sword into the afterlife. Contrane wore a breastplate of molded steel over his chest but no other armor, along with an arming cap atop his skull. From what the former prince had learned of the skeleton's former life, Contrane had once been the general of Lady Blackheart's armies.

Lady Blackheart, of course, was the woman who was teaching Hans to defend himself against magic. She had retained her human form, for intricacies that Hans could not determine from his brief time knowing the pair. She was a tall, imposing witch with black hair who had once ruled Corona in an era long past. Together the pair worked tirelessly to prepare Hans for his service to Hades, and for it Hans tried not to resent them, but they worked him well past ragged.

Still breathing heavily, Hans merely nodded to the skeleton.

"Your swordplay has gotten noticeably better during only the past two days, Hans. If you keep making progress at this rate you'll be ready long before the end of the month." Contrane stood again and walked into the center of the room, stooping to pick a training dummy up off the floor.

Hans laughed once and it tasted coppery. "You're just saying that."

The skeleton's back facing him, Contrane continued to adjust the dummy. "Well, yes, I am. But Hades told me that offering you occasional words of encouragement would be likely to increase the quality of your performance and your overall satisfaction."

"I was good, Contrane. The best fencer among all my brothers, growing up, and I was the youngest. It's not like I don't know how to swing a damn sword."

"Yes, yes, it's that your muscles have had three years of malnourishment to atrophy, I realize that." Contrane said. "However, on the master's orders you're eating fit for three men right now to recover your health. And in the meanwhile, just think of these training sessions as reminding your arm how to swing."

"Tell me this. Do you honestly think that I'll be ready?"

Contrane turned to face Hans, and though the skeleton's skull could not show emotion, the former prince was sure that it was with pity that the skeleton said, "Perhaps. If we continue to work hard. A few weeks is simply not much time to recover from such a long imprisonment. But we will see."

Hans sighed again and nodded, taking a towel and wiping the sweat from his face. "And I suppose that Lady Blackheart will want to see me now?"

"You've begun to pick up the routine, haven't you?" The skeleton said with emotionless, monotone sarcasm.

xxx

Hans found Lady Blackheart in her study several minutes later. He had put clothes back on, of course, and hoped self-consciously that the quick bath he had taken had rid him from the stench of his workout. His mentor in magic wore the beautiful face of a young woman, though Hans knew that Lady Blackheart was far, far older than he. She wore her raven hair loose and straight today with a circlet of simple gold about her forehead.

"Sit, Hans. Surely you know the routine by now?"

The prince nodded and took a seat, glancing around himself at the lady's study. Each time that he came here he noticed something new about it, from the titles of the hundreds of books on the shelves (the _Necronomicon_ was among them), to the lone skull that was placed on top of one of the shelves at the back of the room, to the globe which was painted with no world that Hans recognized.

"Have you been thinking about the instructions that I left you with last time?"

"Yes, Lady Blackheart. The best way to shield my mind from a telepath's intrusion is to focus on an overwhelming thought. Something that can occupy my whole mind and shut everything else out."

"Very good. Are you prepared to protect yourself from me?" Lady Blackheart's eyes flashed with the sharpness of a predator.

Ill at ease, Hans said, "Yes. At least, I'll try my hardest." The former prince had not had much success with Lady Blackheart's lessons yet, but he supposed that as his body grew stronger so too would his mind.

"Excellent. Then let us –"

"Actually, Lady Blackheart, I have a question, first, if you don't mind." Hans interrupted her, but tentatively. She looked slightly bemused.

"Yes, Hans?"

"Well, it's just… Hades selected me above anyone else because I 'already had experience with magic,' he said. But Queen Elsa's magic isn't anything like this stuff that you're training me for. She couldn't read minds or anything like that; she had ice magic."

"Well of course, Hans," Lady Blackheart said in a somewhat patronizing tone, as if his concerns weren't concerns at all. "There are many types of magic that a witch or wizard might have access to, but none of us can do it all. I would even go so far as to venture that each and every witch and wizard can do _something_ that no other spellcaster can."

"Then what's the point of trying to prepare me for anything related to magic?"

Lady Blackheart actually laughed at this. "Well, even if we all go about it in different ways, there are still many telepaths. Eventually, you will encounter one, and eventually, you will be glad to be prepared for how to defend yourself against them.

"Your experience with Queen Elsa has prepared you for cryomancers, and by extension pyromancers, geomancers, animists, and the like. All elemental wizardry is rooted in the same core processes, just as all mind magic follows the same lines. If you encounter someone who you know to be an elemental wizard, you will be prepared for the kinds of spells that they might use and how to defend yourself.

"I am in the process of ensuring that you are ready to defend yourself from the attacks of a telepath. Between them both, you will be prepared for the most common types of witches and wizards that you may encounter in your missions for Hades. If you survive your first mission, we'll have more time to delve into the finer points of magic."

Hans considered what she said, and nodded. "The world of witches and wizards is far larger than I had ever figured it would be."

"Yes, and we can all kill folks like you without breaking a sweat, so you'd better pay attention and learn what you can. Heed my words.

"When you encounter a telepath outside of this scenario, they will be aiming to kill you as quickly as possible, so you must be ready. If they can slip past your defenses for even a moment, a skilled telepath will be able to stop your heart almost trivially. I of course, will not do so; I'm only trying to see if I can get past your defenses. If I find that I cannot, I will exit your mind and tell you that you have succeeded. If I find that I can, I will exit your mind and prove this to you by telling you something that I could not possibly otherwise know about you. I ask again, are you ready?"

Hans took a breath and nodded. "Yes."

Before the end of his declaration even had time to dissipate in the air, he felt an alien presence in his mind. It almost felt like a lucid dream, the way he could feel thoughts entering his mind that weren't his own. He forced himself, with a monumental effort, to focus on Mallory. He drew into his mind a picture of the sweet girl, beautiful and young and just as he remembered her. She was laughing, and it was the day that he stole her down to beach and it was just the two of them…

Suddenly, the image twisted and tears were streaming down her face. Cold dread hit the former prince like a tsunami, drenching every fiber of his being as he heard screaming. _Mallory! God, no, please, take me instead! PLEASE DON'T TOUCH HER!_

He heard brutal, cruel laughing and heard Mallory scream in pain, the most horrible thing that he had ever heard. Unending, relentless screaming, filled with every ounce of pain that Hans had been too weak to save her from. The screaming reached a fever pitch and the former prince's vision swam, and suddenly he hit the floor and was back in Lady Blackheart's study, cold all the way through and shivering.

Lady Blackheart came quickly around the desk and helped the former prince back into his seat, where he sat, ashen faced and silent, wiping at his mouth with a sleeve. Hans realized vaguely that his voice had been screaming along with the threnody in his mind, but he was far too consumed with grief for the moment to be embarrassed.

It was several long moments before Lady Blackheart spoke. "I'm sorry. If I had known that probing certain parts of your memory would cause you such pain, I would have avoided them."

"It's my fault," Hans said savagely. "I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have," Lady Blackheart said simply. "Moreover, you should not have counted on your memory of that young lady to protect you from intrusion. The entire point of this defense is to make your mind so singularly focused on a single thing that your intruder has can explore nothing but that single thought. In that regard, you were very successful. I was unable to find anything in your mind that was not at least tangentially related to this young lady.

"However, I was still able to dismantle you with only this memory, so it will not serve as a proper defense. Find another and we will attempt the same thing tomorrow."

"Yes, Lady Blackheart."


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 _Montaigne still thinks me paranoid for my insistence that Agatha Merke was murdered, but he knows me well enough to realize that I'm very serious about this. I'm going to the mortuary where her body is being kept today; perhaps it can yield some insights._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Schumer Mortuary

Arendelle

October 11th, 1842

Agatha Merke's face was as white as marble, but it had the appearance of being made of wax. The woman looked as if she could be asleep, save for the fact that she was only visible through a slash in a body bag. The mortician Schumer was a man just as waxy as the corpses he prepared for interment, with slick gray hair and a sallow face. He stood on the other side of the corpse, continuing to use the scalpel to cut the slit down the rest of the bag.

He pulled the two sides of canvas away from the corpse to reveal it fully, lying on the metal drawer in the cold room in which it rest. His voice was thin and reedy, and apprehensive.

"Here she lies, your highness. Agatha Merke."

Elsa stared down at the corpse, searching the flesh for any signs of imperfection. "She looks as if she could be asleep."

"Thank you, your highness. My apprentice and I work very hard to ensure that the bodies of all of our… customers are presentable for funerary services, but none more so than the body of a respected public dignitary such as missus Merke."

"She has been examined by a doctor?"

"Twice, your highness, by two separate physicians. Doctor Cummings was called to her residence and proclaimed her dead last Tuesday, and the day after she was examined by our very own Doctor Wilkinshire."

"Do you have a copy of their comments?" Elsa looked up from the corpse, beginning to feel sick at the chemical smell of the room.

"Of course, your highness, but might I ask…?" Schumer fell silent and allowed his sentence to trail away.

Elsa wondered whether it was worth making up a lie to the man, and decided on an impulse to keep her intentions unknown. After all, she was quite certain that nothing good could come from public knowledge that the queen figured one of her magistrates had been murdered.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Schumer, but the answer to that question comes above your pay grade."

"Of course, your highness." Mr. Schumer led her away from the corpse and to the other side of the room, where a great many filing cabinets were set. Then man opened a drawer labeled 'M' and began to flip through sheaves of paper.

He pulled one out and exclaimed, "Ah, here we are, your highness. Agatha Merke's confirmation of death and medical examination record."

Elsa took the papers and began to pore over them. On top was the confirmation of death, written in neat cursive:

 _Examiner:_ Dr. Cummings

 _Witness:_ Ronald Merke

 _Date & Time: _Oct. 7th, 3:12 a.m.

 _Certification:_ I, Doctor Clyde Billingsworth Cummings, do hereby certify that on this date, at the Houve ranch, I did examine and confirm the death of Agatha Merke. I found her in her room with no obvious wounds. She was not breathing and already dead. I cannot at this time make any statement about the possible cause of her death, except that she wasn't violently killed.

Below this was another paper, this one written on the Mortuary's stock:

I, Doctor Henry Wilkinshire, do hereby confirm that I examined the late Agatha Merke on October 8th, 1842, at 11:47 am. Her corpse had no wounds or other blemishes, there was no bruising of her exterior, and other examinations of her body confirmed Cumming's belief that her life was not violently taken. Upon performing my internal examination, I found that her small intestine featured several pus-filled boils, many of which had ruptured and blocked off passages in the intestine. This is most certainly the cause of death, though I cannot determine what might have caused these lesions. No illness that I am aware of would lead to these symptoms.

Doctor Henry Wilkinshire

Elsa looked up from the last letter, looking around for the mortician. The queen had assumed that the man had remained by her while she read the pages, but he was nowhere in her line of sight.

"Mr. Schumer? Why hasn't anyone been notified of Dr. Wilkinshire's comments about Agatha Merke's causes of death?" As Elsa spoke, she began to walk through the room towards the door, figuring that the mortician must have returned to the hallway through which he had led her here. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost say it sounds like Agatha was poison-"

The door to the room suddenly shut, casting it entirely into darkness. Elsa kinesthetically sensed movement near her and dove for the floor, ears splitting from the noise of a gunshot close by.

The queen's mind went numb with fear, but she felt herself moving anyway. She dashed along the room, as close to the floor as she could manage, until she got around the examination table for cover. Her ears rang from the first gunshot, and she realized that she hadn't even heard if the attacker had continued shooting. She didn't feel anything; Elsa figured that she probably wouldn't be standing if she had been hit.

Back to the examination table, ears ringing, the queen felt trapped. She was stuck in a room with a gunman and couldn't see or hear. Elsa forced herself to take one deep breath and call magic to her fingertips. _Just a few days ago you were complaining because you don't ever get to use your magic,_ a voice inside her said. _Well, here you go._

In one movement, Elsa stood and threw out her hands, forming the thickest barrier of ice she could manage in front of herself. A muzzle flashed on the other side of the room and two bullets pierced the shield; Elsa threw her hands in front of her face, but no pain came. Her magic had stopped the bullets.

In the next instant Elsa dropped the shield and the ice in front of her shattered. Knowing where the gunman was, the queen threw out her hand and three jagged bolts of ice flew from her fingertips, exploding into piercing shrapnel about the assailant. Elsa heard a scream of pain and stepped around the table, summoning another barrier of ice in front of herself, and in a fluid movement shoved it across the room towards her attacker.

The barrier was shot once, twice, thrice but it held, sweeping across the floor and slamming into the assailant, hitting the wall and trapping him there. A flick of the wrist and the ice encased him totally save for the head, and Elsa ran across the room to cast the door open again.

Light flooded the room and highlighted a masked man wearing all black, struggling helplessly against his icy interment. Quite certain that this assailant had different proportions than Schumer, the queen looked into the hallway and saw him lying dead there, his head bent at an odd angle from a broken neck.

Turning back into the room, Elsa strode across it towards the man and crossed her arms in front of him. He struggled with the desperation and futility of a cornered man against his bonds, but to no avail. Elsa reached out towards him and tore the mask from his face, revealing the face of a handsome young man, with wavy dark hair and shining with exertion. A vein bulged in his neck as again he wrenched with all his might against the bonds, yelling with frustration.

Elsa stared at the man for a long moment before speaking. "Who are you?"

He spat in her face. The queen slowly raised a hand and wiped it away, her jaw growing firm. She resisted the urge to slap the man, but only just so.

"Don't… do that again," the queen said. "Or I can make your bindings far more painful. If you won't speak to me than perhaps the constabulary can get information out of you."

The young man still did not speak, though he grunted against his bonds. It was if he worried that by speaking so much as a word he risked total compromise of his mission. Elsa regarded him with distaste for a few more moments before sweeping from the room, flicking her wrist and causing the ice binding the man to grow even thicker in her absence.

The queen stepped into the street to find no less than five coaches around her own, constables flooding the area in front of the door. Many were readying weapons that immediately trained upon the queen as she exited the mortuary, only to have the chief yell frantically, "Guns down, you blasted fools! Guns down!"

Elsa strode quickly towards the chief, who met her quickly and bowed tersely. "Your highness, your driver came to us, mentioning that there was gunfire inside the building. We came as quickly as possible."

Elsa nodded briskly. "There was a single assailant, who, regrettably, killed the mortician before attacking me. I managed to detain him within the cold room. You'll find him there."

The chief gazed upon the queen with wonder for a moment before turning and yelling orders at his men.

"Banks! McGillicutty! Get in there and get cuffs on the man! Donahue and James, provide backup." He turned and faced another four constables. "You lot start knocking on doors and explaining what's happening. Make sure that people know that the situation is under control."

He turned last to face the only female constable on the squad, a young lady with her hair in a tight red bun that, for a catching moment, reminded Elsa of her sister. "Brachs. Find out where Schumer's family lived, if he had one, and start preparing a general condolence statement."

The chief turned and looked back on the constables, immediately whipping into a fury and yelling, "Why isn't anyone moving? Today, you damn dogs!"

As the chief clapped his hands several times, his constables scattered to complete the tasks he had assigned them. He turned back to the queen at last and smiled weakly. "Well, your majesty, we're very glad that you weren't harmed in the exchange. We all feared for the worst when your boy came, he was so frantic…"

Elsa nodded, smiling. "Thank you for your concern, chief." The ice queen glanced about and saw her driver standing amongst a crowd of citizens watching the scene from the other side of the street. She realized with a start that she didn't know the boy's name. She would have to figure it out and thank him personally.

"Will you need a testimony, chief?"

The chief constable looked stunned for a moment that the answer was, in fact, yes; he certainly did.

"Uh, yes, of course. Why don't you accompany me back to the station, and we'll, uh… do that."

xxx

Later that day Elsa stood in Anna's chamber, braiding her sister's hair elaborately as the girl sat in front of a vanity table. Her sister looked halfway ready to leap from her seat, fully distraught.

"You almost _died,_ Elsa! Someone tried to assassinate you! That's – that's – that's horrible!"

The queen smiled weakly. "Yes, it certainly is. But we've taken all the proper actions to respond to it. All the constables in Arendelle know of the incident by now, and the palace security has been doubled for the time being. Plus, in a pinch I'm pretty capable of defending myself, you know."

The attempt at humor left Anna unamused. "I can't believe that could actually happen! I mean, I know that it does to most rulers at some point or another, but you're _so young!_ "

"Father told me once that the first attempt on his life was made during the week after his coronation. So really, it's happy that I've made it this far without one. And besides, in a way this all excites me."

" _Excites you?"_ Anna's voice had jumped nearly an octave through the course of their conversation and Elsa feared that she might start becoming hysterical.

"Well, yes, in a way. The attacker had to know that I was going to be at Schumer Mortuary today. Which means they had to know why I would be there; the only logical explanation is that I was right. The same person, or people, who planned the death of Agatha Merke were also trying to make an attempt on my life! It all adds up, don't you see?"

"But that's even worse, Elsa! If there are people out there trying to kill both you _and_ your advisors, then it's not just a random incident! That means there's someone or some group of people out there deliberately trying to kill you for power!"

"Whatever the case may be, we've captured one of the assailants. Even if he's not behind it all, if we can get him to speak and tell us who is."

"Well, I suppose so," Anna said, still sounding as if she would not be persuaded easily to abandon her fear. "I'm worried, Elsa, that the reason you're not as scared by all this as you should be is that you were eager for a chance to use your powers."

"Nonsense. Hush." Elsa winced internally at her sister's perceptiveness. She turned the princess's head sideways a bit to show her the braid in the mirror. "How do you like it? Is it too formal?"

Anna and Kristoff had planned for a night out on the town this evening, but in light of the recent security issues he was being invited to stay in the palace for the night instead. All the same, it warranted a bit of dressing up to the occasion.

Sighing a bit and smiling, Anna said, "It's beautiful, Elsa. It's perfect." She stood and turned to face her eldest sister, taking both of the queen's hands in her own. "Please just promise me that you won't do anything reckless, okay? Arendelle needs you to be its queen, not its spellcasting detective."

Elsa sighed too and smiled back at those turquoise eyes, every bit the same shade as her own. "All right, Anna. Nothing reckless. I promise."


	7. Chapter Six

Author's Note:

Hello, TLD Fans! Thank you all for reading! If you flip back through the previous chapters you'll find I've now made the proper quality-of-life upgrades that this fanfic desperately needed, most notably scene breaks. Scenes within chapters are now appropriately divided with three x's between the paragraphs. Also, I would love any and all comments that you have to offer; I'm always on the lookout for constructive criticism. And now, back to the last half of Arc One of Trials of Light and Darkness! :)

xxx

Chapter Six

 _The swiftness of death cradled the wizard to his grave like a soft blanket._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Hades's Temple

The Edge of Hell

October 30th, 1842

The days turned into weeks spent in Hell, relentlessly preparing for an unknown task that would be set before the former prince so soon. When less than a day remained until his task, Hans had regained much of his prowess with a blade. His body had recovered magnificently, as if it realized how important it was that his health be admirable in just a few short days. He had now regained the lean musculature that he had prided himself on in life, though he was stronger, Hans was sure, than he had ever been before.

However, for all his prowess with muscle and steel, Hans found that his trials with Lady Blackheart grew no simpler with the passage of time and the repetition of trials. Thus, the night before the former prince's first mission found him kneeling upon the floor of the witch's study, his mind successfully invaded once again. He swore violently.

"Dammit, Lady Blackheart, this isn't working," Hans said, frustration overcoming him as he beat at the floor with a fist.

"I never told you that protecting yourself would be easy," the witch said, her voice laced with similar frustration. "It takes skilled telepaths years to fully protect themselves from the likes of their peers, and _we_ have the advantage of firsthand experience with it."

"Then how the hell does Hades expect me to be ready? He's walking me into a slaughter!" Hans had stood and paced about the far end of the room, deliberately avoiding Lady Blackheart's gaze. He didn't want her to see his weakness and fear, although rationally he was aware that she could read him like a book.

"The master has little more idea what you will be facing than you do, Hans. It is generous of him to prepare you for every eventuality. It seems that you must simply hope that your enemy's forces don't consist of telepaths." Lady Blackheart's voice was almost pitying. "I would suggest that we try again, but Hades has requested that you go to see him at six-o'clock to discuss your mission. You'll find him in the armory."

Even as the witch finished speaking the temple's bell began to toll the hour. "Good luck, Hans. Remember my training, even if you feel unprepared. In times of great duress, we often surprise ourselves."

"Thank you, Lady Blackheart." Hans bowed once to the witch and took his leave, wondering what would happen to him if he died again, in this form.

Hans had never been inside the armory before, so when he found it he stood tentatively outside, knocking on the doorframe and peering inside.

"Come, in, kid." Hans could not see Hades outright, but as he stepped inside he found the Prince of Death standing beside a full barrel of what appeared to be bracers, each set different than the others.

The room was a vast, rectangular space; its walls were covered with all manner of armaments. Hans stepped around another barrel, this one filled with a thicket of blades, to reach the deity.

"Is there need for all this?" Hans said, looking around with bemusement at the embarrassment of riches.

"Kid, I've been preparing for war for a very long time," Hades said enigmatically. "So yes. It's all very necessary. Anyway. I called you here for two reasons. First, and foremost, I need to detail your mission. Second, once I have, you'll need the tools for the job."

"I stand waiting to listen," Hans said, crossing his arms and leaning against a bare patch on the stone wall.

"The first service that you will render to me is in London," Hades began. "There is a man, named Anderson Voight, who is the ringleader of a violent cult within the city. I've been trying to pin him and his cult down for years, and luckily my sources have recently made a breakthrough. It behooves us that only Voight has the power to commune with the… being, that they worship.

"Your mission, kid, is to assassinate Voight before the cult's next sacrifice. Until very recently, my sources informed me that the sacrifice was planned for the first of November; it coincided with the first of the Pagan New Year. However, I just finished speaking to Mr. Gold. A constable crackdown has occurred in the city to try and stop the cult, and it is only a matter of time before their base of operations is discovered and their actions are put an end to. In response, the cult has moved the sacrifice to Halloween."

"Tomorrow?"  
"Yes, tomorrow. Therefore, you must leave tonight."

"Tonight? But I'm not –"

"Fortune has smiled on you, kid. A newer constable in London, a man named Darby Sculler, died last night of alcohol poisoning in his apartment. As we speak that fact is not yet common knowledge, for he was a bachelor and a recluse. All that said, you will be assuming his alias for the mission. This will grant you access to the help of the constabulary, which should come in very handy if things come to a raid."

"How am I supposed to just take this man's place? I mean, I might not look anything like him."

"Oh, how ye have little faith, kid," Hades said sarcastically as he drew from within his robes a corked vial, in which resided a glimmering pink liquid. "This elixir will cause you to take Sculler's appearance for a period of exactly twenty-four hours. That's almost certainly less time than you'll be in London, so you better figure out how best to use it."

Hans accepted the vial and looked down at it, his mind already whirling with the task to be set ahead of him.

"So I'm supposed to go to London, take Sculler's place, figure out where Voight's cult is planning their sacrifice for tomorrow night, convince the constabulary to raid the building with me, and assassinate Voight during the fighting?"

"Exactly." Hades grinned, pointed yellow teeth baring.

"Sounds simple enough." Hans's voice dripped with sarcasm, but the Prince of Death seemed willing to take his words at face value, for he clapped the former prince on the shoulder.

"Atta boy. Mr. Gold informed me that he strongly suspects the cult's base of operations to be in the poor side of down below the Thames, so we'll be implanting you in the heart of the soot district. Look around there first. Oh. And one more thing, before I allow you to peruse my armory for your supplies." Hades had turned to the door, but glanced over his shoulder as he said this. "My sources inform me that Voight almost certainly has several wizards in his employ, so be prepared."

xxx

As the seventh hour tolled in London that evening a damned man was recalled to life. It felt like waking from sleep as Hans gasped and shuddered, breathing in sharply the chill night air as he lay huddled in an alleyway. The former prince looked about and stood up, his head swimming as blood abandoned it for several moments. He was alive. He reached out with his hands, touched the stone walls of the alleyway, took several more breaths of air. He was alive.

On the devil's payroll. Hans glanced down and saw a constable's uniform, felt underneath it the armor that he had taken from Hades. In a holster at his side he wore a shotgun and on the other, a saber. Strapped to the sides of his chest he wore two pistols and a knife was wedged into one of his boots; perhaps most important of all was the vial that was tucked safely into his breast pocket. Armed to the teeth and yet wholly unprepared for the task ahead of him.

Hans strode briskly into the street and saw immediately a tavern across the street; the place was a dingy dive with peeling paint and dirty windows. Hans figured that if he was looking for information, this was the place to start. As he walked towards the bar, he removed his jacket and reversed it; the inside had been deliberately stitched to look like a leather duster. He pulled the collar up about his neck and stepped inside.

The tavern was certainly not busy, though Hans imagined that it was about as full as it would tend to get. Several of the patrons, though certainly rough around the edges themselves, glared at the weapons that he openly carried at his sides, their gazes following him to the bar where he sat and snapped his fingers, drawing the attention of the barkeep.

The man turned to face Hans and glowered at him, roughly setting down the glass that he was in the process of polishing and ambling over on a peg leg.

"What'll it be, Jack?" The barkeep had one lazy eye and one that squinted, graying hair and arms that bulged with equal parts muscle and fat.

Hans was searching for an area large enough to hold a cult gathering, yet a place that would not have been investigated already. Abandoned buildings seemed a likely place to start; the former prince remembered that he had seen a dilapidated smokestack over the rooftops of the square as he had approached the tavern, and decided to take a gamble.

"Whiskey and answers for a friend," Hans said, dropping a deliberately crumpled note onto the counter.

The barkeep pocketed the bill and turned to retrieve a whiskey bottle from the counter behind him. Back still turned and loudly enough for others sitting at the bar to hear, he growled. "I don't know what kind of answers you're looking for, Jack, but my gut tells me that you best be asking someone else."

He set a glass of whiskey onto the table before Hans with enough speed that it rattled.

"Peace, man. Nothing to string you up by. I'm out of work and wondering if the factory I passed on the way here is hiring. Would've put a half shilling on't that you'd have known."

The barkeep eyed Hans suspiciously as the former prince downed the whiskey in a single shot. He turned his back again to the counter behind him, and, wiping it down with the rag that he still clutched, spoke.

"Might, n' then it might'nt. Suppose you'd have to find a new owner first, though!" The barkeep turned back at the end of his sentence and roared with laughter, the eavesdroppers at the bar joining in. "The ol' Wesson factory's been closed down 'better part o' these ten years, Jack. If I didn' know better I'd imagine that you migh' not be from these parts o' London."

Hans unintentionally smiled.

"What the hell's so funny, Jack?" The barkeep did not seem to like the idea that Hans was not embarrassed by his mistake.

The former prince stood and continued to smile, saying, "Nothing at all, friend. Nothing at all."

Hans strode from the bar, many of its patrons shouting rude comments after him. The cool air kissed his face as he stepped outside, walking into the center of the square the tavern was set in. He turned a full circle in the center, picking out the nearest smokestack and walking in that direction. As he did so he removed his jacket once again and reversed it, adjusting his collar again to lay it flat.

Hans reached the factory as he heard a nearby church toll eight. Sure enough, peeling paint on the side read "Wesson & Co." He approached the nearest house, and, lamenting the fact that he didn't have a badge to show for authority, knocked three times.

A middle-aged woman who wore the garb of a servant opened the door, peering at him through thick-lensed bifocals. "Oh! Good evening, officer."

"Evening, ma'am," Hans said, making sure that his voice sounded formal enough after the gravelly one that he had chosen for the tavern. "On a call about an alleged disturbance in the neighborhood. Man at the station told us that he heard noises coming from the old Wesson factory."

"The old Wesson factory?" The woman repeated. "Why, they do say that it's haunted, don'cha know."

"What do you mean?" Hans forced himself not to jump to conclusions, but he had a running suspicion that he had either just been very clever or very lucky in his search for the cult's base of operations.

"Oh, sure, every month when the moon is full everyone on the street hears screaming from the factory. We've reported it to you people before but you tell us it's all just superstition. The place is barricaded, after all, and all the old boards are still in place. Ain't no one getting in there without using a door or a window or something, but they're all still boarded up, just like they have been for seven years."

Now quite certain that he had found the place, Hans said, "Thank you, ma'am. That will be all."

"Oh? I don't suppose I was very helpful…" The maid frowned, blinking twice behind the glasses that made her eyes seem so large.

"Actually, ma'am, you were quite helpful. Thank you for your time."

Hans stepped down from the porch, and without waiting for the woman to close the door, turned and removed the map of London he had been given from his breast pocket, palming the vial as he did so. He turned his steps towards the nearest constabulary and uncorked the potion, mind running apace with his plans.

Hans would check the constabulary records to see if the building had ever been fully investigated on the haunting calls. If it hadn't, he was fairly sure that quite a bit more than a convocation of ghosts was meeting in that abandoned factory.

Hans took a large gulp of the potion. It tasted unpleasantly sweet, like a rotten fruit. He wrinkled his nose and forced the rest of it down, choking a bit. The former prince made himself to swallow the foul stuff, already feeling a strange tingling sensation in his extremities. He had twenty-four hours.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 _The captured man is facing charges of death for his crimes, and yet until today he did not speak. I was informed at eight-o'clock this morning the man asked to speak to me. Of course, he'll have his hands bound the whole time, so there's nothing to worry about, but for some reason Anna and Montaigne are still hesitant. I'm going anyway; I want to hear what he finally has to say._

 _Elsa's Diary_

* * *

Constabulary Headquarters, Precinct Six

Arendelle

October 16th, 1842

"Right this way, your highness."

"Thank you, officer." Elsa followed the uniformed man down a stark corridor towards a metal door at the other end of the hall.

A single, rectangular glass pane surrounded by heavy bolts provided the only way to see into the room, and by peering over the constable's shoulder the queen saw her assailant sitting in the room at a table, hands chained to the center.

"Are you sure that you still want to –"

"Yes, officer." Elsa tried to keep annoyance out of her voice as she interrupted the man, but her patience was wearing thin with a sea of people around trying to coddle her.

"Alright. Well then. We'll let you in, but make sure that you keep far enough away from him that he can't reach you. And if at any moment you feel threatened, nod towards the doorway. We'll have three men waiting to enter."

"Thank you, officer." Elsa stepped past the man as he unbolted the door and let her inside. As it clanged shut behind her the man at the table looked up and his eyes widened.

In a shaky voice, the man said, "E-elsa?" His voice was harsh and accented, as if he normally spoke another language.

Elsa stood on the other side of the room, considering the man with her arms folded. She wondered for a moment whether the lack of an honorific had been intended to insult her.

"Yes. Who are you?"

The man made a strange, guttural noise. After a moment the queen realized that it might be laughter. "I am no one. Less than no one. I gave my body and mind to the greater good, and became a coward in my last hours. Are you prepared to listen very carefully to me, Elsa?"

Frowning at him, the queen considered for a moment and nodded.

"I serve the greatest power this world has ever known. Now that I am betraying it I only have a few moments to live."

A strange gurgling sound punctuated the end of the man's sentence and a vein in his neck appeared suddenly.

"It is gathering power. It is returning to this world and it is most likely too late to stop it." The man had begun to foam at the sides of the mouth, and Elsa grew more alarmed by the man's condition as the moments passed.

"But there is still a chance!" He shouted this emphatically, suddenly jerking his entire body against his restraints before falling motionless again. "There is still a chance to stop it."

"It? What are you talking about? We need a doctor –" Elsa started to turn towards the door but whirled back around as the man shouted again.

"NO! It is too late for me! Listen, that I might spend my last moments on this earth – AUGGH – atoning, for my sins," the man said, having flopped his upper body sideways onto the table, his eyes rolling wildly.

"Go to Bavaria! There is a monastery there, home to an ancient monk named – ERAGGGHHH – Wulfric, ugh, Shaw. He will, he can," the man panted, his tongue lolling and drooling an acidic liquid onto the table. "Tell you, what my master prevents me from-"

"AUGGGGHHHH!" The man's body convulsed horribly, straining once more against his bonds.

The door behind Elsa all but burst open as the men rushed into the room, fighting to restrain the man as he fell to a strange gibbering. The man's eyes rolled completely back into his head and drew it upright before slamming it against the table with a surprising ferocity. The man's head then lolled blankly to the side and he was dead.

There was a sudden, enveloping silence in the room, the only noise the hissing of the acidic fluid still seeping from the man's mouth and nose. The men who had entered the room unhanded the corpse and the officer who had spoken to the queen earlier turned towards her.

"Are you alright, your majesty?"

"Yes," Elsa said with a dismissive flick of the wrist. "Completely unharmed. You'll excuse me, officers, but I believe that my presence is no longer necessary."

Elsa barely heard the men's supplicating response as she turned and swept from the interrogation chamber, her mind whirling with the words that the man had said. He was insane. There was no question about that. His talk of a 'greater power' was the raving of an ill man. And his sudden, immediate death was… a coincidence.

That was what the queen's advisors would tell her. That's probably what any rational person would tell her. And yet, he had given her a name. Wulfric Shaw. Find him, and Elsa would find the truth.

xxx

"Bavaria? Your highness, surely you're joking," Namar Sadden, Chief Magistrate, said exasperatedly.

Ten days later marked the first meeting of the queen's magistrates since Elsa had spoken with the assailant, and in the meeting she floated the idea that she might make a journey to the Germanic city-state.

Elsa was silent for several moments, staring at her counselors with a disinterested, half-lidded gaze. Her magistrates shifted uncomfortably around the meeting room's table, one seat among them noticeably empty.

"Good lord," Sadden murmured. "Your highness," he entreated, "we are so close to the proposal of next year's platform, your kingdom needs you here, preparing the treatise. Surely you could find another part of the year to make a trip to Bavaria?"

Namar Sadden was an older man, perhaps not quite so old as Montaigne, though Elsa was hesitant to admit that, like the rest of her counselors, the queen didn't really know much about him. He had served her father as long as the queen could remember, and Agnarr had relied on the man much more than Elsa preferred to; her master servant had taken many of the duties that Arendelle's previous ruler had once entrusted to the Chief Magistrate.

"I plan to start the trip on November 4th, magistrates. I'll leave with you my drafted treatise for you all to work on in my absence. Make sure that it is ready for the eighteenth."

Elsa wasn't quite sure why she was so set on going to Bavaria to find Wulfric Shaw immediately; to be sure, the assailant hadn't left any mention of a time frame to her. The assailant's language had been frantic, however, and Elsa was certain that, if he was telling the truth, time was of the essence.

"But, my lady," Charles Vander, her oldest magistrate said tentatively, "your royal education did not even include German; how can you expect to –"

"Odette Marie Novare, your new associate, is well-versed in German. She will be accompanying me on this trip to serve as translator. It will also serve as a chance for me to get to know her on a personal level."

The magistrates looked amongst themselves, the four elderly men clearly biting back a question. It seemed to get the better of Halloway.

"Your highness… it would do much to set our minds at ease if we were certain that your trip was of a nature that would serve the nation…"

Shermish Halloway trailed into silence and pulled at his emerald cravat. Of all her counselors, Halloway was generally one of the most sycophantic, but it seemed that this really was bothering them. Elsa sighed.

"I'm sorry gentleman, but it's a very secure matter. Only people in this room even know yet that I will be making this trip, and with your cooperation, my people will never know that I'm gone. Can I trust you to have the treatise prepared by the time I return?"

Namar Sadden responded immediately, as if the very notion that she would question their abilities affronting.

"Of course, your majesty. And we wish you the best of luck on your journey. May you find whatever it is that you are searching for." The gaunt man ran a hand over his slick white hair and sighed.

"You know, you remind me a lot of Agnarr, your highness. Back when he was your age, of course, Fjoric was still king, but as the crown prince he was always eager for adventure. Sometimes, it came at the cost of his work," Sadden added as a mild reprimand.

"I assure you, counselors, nothing is more important to me than serving my people. I would not be making this journey if I wasn't certain that it was necessary."

The magistrates wished her luck, one by one, and reassured her that the treatise would be ready by the eighteenth, no matter what. Elsa thanked them and took her leave, dreading the next person she had to inform of her journey.

xxx

"Bavaria? Why on earth do you have to go there?" Anna had stopped with a fork of pasta halfway to her mouth, and it slowly slid back onto her plate as the redhead eyed the queen suspiciously. "This isn't about that one time I said you were paler than a German albino, right?"

Elsa laughed lightly. She had forgotten about that, come to think of it.

"No, no, not at all. Far from it."

"Well, then tell me why." Anna frowned, a little crinkle appearing between her eyebrows. Elsa could tell that she wasn't about to like this.

"You see," Elsa found herself toying with her necklace and manually stopped. She knew that she couldn't simply tell her sister that 'it was a matter of great importance.' "I um, spoke with my assailant a few days ago. Before he died."

"And he told you to go to Bavaria." One of Anna's eyebrows was cocked sarcastically, and Elsa found herself wondering if this was a really stupid idea. There was a few seconds silence and then the princess frowned and rubbed her face. "Oh, dear god."

"Anna, listen to me for a moment. If this were some elaborate trap to try and have me assassinated, why not set it up closer to me in the first place? And why send me to a monastery somewhere out in the mountains of Germany? And why give me a name?"

"He told you to go to a monastery and find someone?"

"Yes, Anna, an old monk named Wulfric Shaw. Supposedly, he can tell me what's been going on with the murder of Agatha Merke and the more recent attempt on my own life."

"Well, I can tell that you'll be going, whether I think it's a good idea or not," Anna sighed. "Please don't go alone, Elsa. Don't keep trying to fix everything yourself. Arendelle still needs a queen more than anything else you can give it."

Elsa reached across the table and squeezed her sister's hand reassuringly. "I'll be taking Novare with me after she arrives. I know she's not the soldier you would have me bring along, but she knows the language, and I don't. And believe me, I can defend myself just fine."

xxx

November 4th arrived with a morning fog. It sank low over the fjord and gave the city a balmy, ethereal quality. It had not dissipated by midmorning when Novare's coach would arrive, so the eleventh hour found the queen standing in her courtyard underneath a sable cloak.

Elsa had sent word to Novare of their intended journey weeks before, and the newest magistrate had readily accepted the journey. They would depart as soon as she arrived, and the queen felt a small pang of guilt for asking Novare to baptize her service with such long travels. On the other hand, she wouldn't be doing this at all if she didn't think that it was important.

Elsa heard the pounding of hooves on cobblestones as a faint clip-clop in the distance. Montaigne stood beside the queen, just as straight-backed as ever. The pounding resolved into a large, dark form entering the courtyard. The carriage slowed to a halt before the queen, rising out of the fog like a specter. The caddy hopped off the driver's box and hastened to open the carriage doors.

Odette Marie Novare took the man's hand and stepped down, wearing a loose bun and a traveling cloak of her own. She curtsied to the queen and lowered her gaze, saying, "It is a pleasure to enter fully into your service, your highness."

"Thank you, Odette," Elsa said as she crossed the space between them and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "And please, do remember to call me Elsa."

Novare blushed. "Oh my gosh, yes, I forgot. Elsa. Thank you."

Though Elsa was Novare's junior by a few years, she certainly felt older. Then again, Elsa's past had certainly done a good job of pushing her to maturity ahead of time. Nonetheless, the girl had an innocent spark that Elsa found refreshing. It reminded her of Anna, in a way.

Novare followed by the queen's side as they headed towards another carriage, a far grander and decidedly more royal one.

"I'm really sorry that your first job for me is so far removed from what you probably expected your duties to be. I assure you that I'll have use for your talents with law as well in time."

"Think nothing of it, Elsa," Novare said brightly. "I've never really had a chance to use my German outside of an academic setting, and I always wanted to travel to Germany anyway. I'm eager to serve you in whatever capacity you have in mind."

The two young women stepped through the morning fog into the carriage, Elsa turning to sit on the opposite side of her young magistrate. Her back to the driver's box, the queen could feel him hoist up onto it.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Elsa punctuated the girl's affirmation with two knocks on the wall of the carriage behind her, and their journey began.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

 _The great wizard was, in his youth, as proud as he was powerful. His mind greatly outstripped those of his mentors and his skill with magic, unrivaled._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Constabulary Station, Downtown

London

October 30th, 1842

The night was late by the time Hans stepped into the police station wearing the face of Darby Sculler. He entered the reception room and saw that the secretary had been sent home for the night. The room was not lit, but down a hallway it seemed the mess area was.

Hans followed the path, wondering how many officers would be present. He knew that in Olympia there was certainly a night watch, but had no idea how many officers might be in the station for other reasons. The former prince stepped into the doorway of the mess hall and saw three men sitting about a table, smoking and drinking while they played cards.

The oldest men among them, a scowl-faced man with graying hair and a thick mustache, turned to look at Hans and threw his hand down in frustration.

"Goddammit, Sculler, what the hell do you mean, not showing up all day and then waltzing in a quarter to midnight?"

Not at all surprised by this reception, the former prince's face was a mask of regret as he tried to answer, but the older man had not finished.

"That's some kind of gig you've got going there, pal, thinking you can pull this kind of shit in your first goddamn month on the job!" The man had stood up and puffed around the table to jab his finger at Hans while the other men watched with varying levels of bemusement.

"Do you even want to keep this job? Do you? Because I could throw your ass out onto the street so goddamn fast –"

"Chief," Hans interrupted, hands thrown up into the air. "I'm sorry, chief, I'll be sure to tell you directly next time I'm going out on a solo call."

"A solo call? What the hell are you talking about?"

Making up a name that sounded common enough that Hans was reasonably certain it would work, he lied, "Look I'm sorry that Jones didn't tell you, he swore he would –"

"Look, Sculler," the chief said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "you come to me when you want to go off on some stupid shit in the future, and I'll tell you 'hell no,' but at least that way you won't disappear and make me regret hiring you in the first place. Okay?"

"Okay, chief, but I found something really important."

Chief Sullivan had returned to the table and took his seat again, working a cigar back into his mouth. He barely looked in Hans's direction as he said, "Then file it. If it really is important we'll get to it in the morning."

"Anderson Voight," the former prince said emphatically.

Three chairs scraped on the ground as the officers turned to look at Hans. The chief set his cigar back into his smoking dish.

"What… did you just say, Sculler?"

"Anderson Voight," Hans continued, "I found the location where he's leading the sacrifices. Or at least, I'm pretty damn sure that I did. I just need to make sure that there's never been an investigative call on the premises."

"Are you serious?" Chief Sullivan had stood from his chair and the others followed suit as he crossed around the table to look at Hans.

"There's an abandoned factory five miles from the Thames on the south side of the river, in the soot district. It's called Wesson & Co.; every month at the full moon there's complaints from the surrounding neighborhood of noises and screaming coming from inside."

The other officers stood about Hans now, concentrating deeply on his words.

"The complaints were never investigated in the first place, and after enough time the people in those neighborhoods started to chalk the disturbances up to haunting. After that point there was no chance the station was going to take the call seriously enough to answer it, but I'd bet my last pound that that's where the sacrifices are taking place."

The chief rubbed at the coarse stubble on his chin and looked at another of the officers with him. "Connolly, check the records and see if Sculler's right that the place hasn't been investigated."

One of the officers hurried off to comply with the request. While he did, Hans and the chief stared into each other's eyes, each trying to measure the other. In another life Sullivan would certainly have been far more eager to afford the former prince respect.

After a crawling minute, Connolly reentered the room with a look of confusion writ on his face. "I don't know, chief, how it happened, but… Sculler's right."

Hans tried not to let his smile look too self-satisfied.

"Someone's been tampering with the records, I'd figure. The calls weren't in the same cabinet as the others, they were all thrown in at the back of our unsolved cases. Wrong enough that we wouldn't notice them and do something about it, just right enough that no one would suspect anything."

Hans felt a prickling sensation. If this cult had the oversight to control constabulary records, they were certainly in for a hell of a fight. The chief turned to face Hans and laughed, a deep thing in his throat.

"Well tan my hide and piss on my grave, Sculler, I take it all back." The chief clapped a hand onto the former prince's shoulder, his breath acrid from smoking. "I've been trying to pin down Voight for four years now, and you've just done it."

Hans felt the other officers clap his shoulders and Connolly began to pour drinks. He shoved a glass of rum into the former prince's hand, who broke into a smile that faded almost as quickly as it touched his lips.

"But we need to use this information quickly. The sacrifices occur on full moons, so the next one is tomorrow night."

The officers stopped off their laughing and congratulations, and the chief stopped with his glass halfway to his lips.

"You're right." Sullivan broke into motion and started to walk from the room, Hans and the other officers following after him. The chief continued to talk as he walked. "We can't investigate the place during the day or else they'll call off the sacrifice and we won't be able to bust them. But we also have to be fast enough to save the life of this month's girl."

They entered a darkened room and the officers lit several lanterns. Hans saw that they were in some sort of strategic mission control.

The chief barked at the other officer, "Macnair! Get out the lower eighth map! Connolly! Put on a pot of coffee and round up as many officers as you can! It's gonna be a damn long night."

As the station's clock tolled two in the morning of Halloween, the mission control room was filled with eight men and the former prince, all poring over a diagrammatic drawing of the warehouse that Macnair had prepared. The smell of coffee was thick in the air and Hans's brain was sharp to the quick with fear and anticipation.

Hans's time spent with the army of the Southern Isles was one during peacetime, and as a high-ranking officer he was not deployed to fight in the minor conflicts that he might have faced here and there. He had never killed a man, and he had never feared for his life more than he did now.

"All right, listen up, because I'm only gonna go through this one more time," the chief growled. "We all stake out the building from five o'clock tonight, watch for movement on any sides of the building. However, it's supposed to be boarded up on all sides, so they're probably getting in some other way.

"Once the full moon rises, the first indication you have that the cult is inside, shoot a flare. _Watch for the goddamn flares, people._ Once you see a flare, bust the door nearest you and break that shitshow up. Got it?"

"Yes chief!" Came the call of eight men in the chamber.

"All right, Connolly and Wilkes, you're doorbusting with me; we'll be taking the front. Make sure you wear riot gear. Fortescue and Rawles, you'll take the right side, Bander and Trop will be on the left. Macnair and Sculler, you'll be entering through the rear."

 _My sources inform me that Voight almost certainly has several wizards in his employ, so be prepared._ Hans heard the Prince of Death's words over and over in his head, a creeping mantra that threatened to seize him with fear. Hans felt that he should warn these men, but didn't know how. Would they think him insane? If they didn't take him seriously, would it cast the entire operation into doubt? Would it even matter?

Several times, Hans almost found himself telling the men, but eventually he kept his silence. Surely with nine men they would be able to overcome a few wizards.

xxx

"Are you scared, Sculler?"

Hans turned to glance sidelong at Macnair as they sat behind a pile of crates in the alleyway beside the warehouse. The former prince held a shotgun close to his chest, his knuckles whitened from the tightness of his grip.

"What makes you say that?" Hans chuckled nervously and took a deep breath as he loosened his grip a bit.

"You've never been on a raid, have you, Sculler?" Macnair, on the other hand, looked as if he could be waiting for a cab.

"Not yet," Hans said, squinting in the sunset and trying to take even breaths.

"Never killed a man before either, I bet."

"Never." Hans could tangibly feel the alleyway growing darker around them, the shadows lengthening and the killing time approaching.

"It's always a bit hard, your first time," Macnair said as he picked at his teeth with a toothpick. "First time I shot a guy I couldn't pull the trigger again for months, even just during target practice. It passes, eventually."

"How can you just forget something like that?"

"Forget?" Macnair laughed. "You don't forget anything, Sculler. I remember every man I've ever killed on this job. Still see their faces if I can't sleep at night. You get by because you realize that they died for a reason. First man I ever shot was an opioid addict, out of his mind. His neighbors complained about a domestic disturbance one night and we showed up to find that he'd stabbed his girlfriend dead right there on the floor. We found him in the bathroom with a kid, probably his girlfriend's. He was drowning the kid in the washtub, pushing his head under the water."

Macnair gazed wistfully into the distance, his mind clearly in another place.

"So I didn't think. I shot him, right in the back of his goddamn head. If I hadn't, that little boy wouldn't be alive today."

Macnair shifted on the ground, turning back to look at Hans.

"So yeah, Sculler, you never forget it. That doesn't mean you'll always be haunted by it. You do what you have to do, and hope that at the end of the day you made the world a better place."

Hans shifted uncomfortably and took another deep breath. "Aren't you scared, though?"

"For my own life?" Macnair seemed to roll this thought over in his head for a long moment before answering. "Not really. I'm not married, don't really have much family to speak of. I've made sure to live while I'm alive, if you know what I mean."

Hans wondered if he was a coward. He also wondered what it mattered. Macnair abruptly laughed and clapped Hans on the shoulder.

"It's alright, Sculler, you'll be just fine. Before you know it this'll all be an unpleasant memory. Just keep your head on straight and save that dame."

Almost as if on cue, the now-darkened sky was cast alight by a flare bursting over the east side of the building. Hans took a ragged breath and felt like he tasted copper. The two men stood from their position crouched in the alleyway, drawing their firearms and approaching the building.

An old, boarded-up doorway was the only thing that stood between them and the cultists inside. Macnair threw his shoulder against the door and it burst inwards easily, the boards rotten from years of exposure to the elements. The men stepped into a dusty storage room filled with rotten crates of whatever it was that Wesson & Co. actually produced; even as they did they heard shouts from the center of the building.

"Let's kick some ass, Sculler," Macnair said as he led the way into the breach.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

 _We found the monastery. Novare has been irreplaceable here; she's a natural with the language and the Bavarians find her endearing. We're staying in a little hamlet up in the mountains; the monastery is about a mile further up. The villagers warned us that the place is cursed, by evil spirits, so I guess that's how we know that this is the place. We're setting out for it first thing in the morning._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Blau Reiter Monastery

Bavaria

November 10th, 1842

Elsa's boots crunched the undergrowth beneath her as she crested the forested hill to gaze down upon the monastery nestled in the valley below. Far up in the mountains and set in the crook of elevated valley, the monastery was hidden deep in the forest and guarded by ancient stone sculptures. Even from this distance Elsa could tell that they bore the guise of great saints and knights, a solemn vigil to guard this sacred ground.

Novare crested the hill behind the queen and placed a hand on Elsa's shoulder, catching her breath for a moment. Far removed from the elegant dresses Elsa was used to, the traveling cloak, boots and trousers that she currently wore made her feel awfully plain. But no matter; this was a place where her sovereignty bore little influence anyway.

The women began their way down the hill, picking their way along a game trail that wound its way through the trees. As they approached the monastery, Novare glanced about themselves and spoke, her voice sounding strangely foreign to this space.

"Can you feel that? There's a strange energy in the air."

Without realizing how she knew it, Elsa frowned. "It's magic. There are ancient, protective wards around this place. Don't do anything that could be seen as a threat to this place, or there's a very good chance we'll die before we realize what we did wrong."

"How can you tell?" Novare said with mixed parts fear and awe as they stepped onto overgrown bricks laid for the courtyard. "Is it because… you know…"

"I think so," Elsa said. "I've never experienced other magic before, but I suppose I must just be able to… tell."

They had involuntarily begun to whisper by the time they reached the doors of the monastery, such was the unnatural silence of this place. The sense of eeriness compounded as a strange whispering on the wind kissed at the ears of the women. Novare glanced about, clearly frightened.

"So, uh, this is where Wulfric Shaw is, huh?"

"I suppose so," Elsa said as she placed a hand on the latch and pushed the door open.

Her action met with little resistance; the door swung open almost as if wind had pushed it. The strange whispering intensified; cloying fragments of speech that wavered just at the edge of audibility. The queen took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. She felt the magical wards waver, for a moment, but nothing happened.

Elsa strode towards a torch on the wall, glowing with a flame that the queen was quite certain never extinguished. She heard Novare following tentatively behind as she took the torch from its perch and began to lead the way through the dark corridors.

There had once been windows along this hallway, clearly, but they were long overgrown with vines that crept over the sides of the monastery, lending the exterior an appearance of being one with its surroundings. The young women gazed upon the stretches of wall illuminated by the torchlight, seeing colorful mosaics that showed warrior-monks fighting against an army of strange creatures; men with the heads of vultures.

"What do you think they mean?" The curiosity in Novare's voice had seemed to overpower her fear and Elsa smiled at the girl's irresistible sense of academia. "The way the paint flakes makes me think this is tempera, which would suggest that it dates back to at least the fifteenth century."

"I have no idea," Elsa said, though she wondered if the army of bird-creatures had something to do with the force of evil that her assailant had spoken of, that Wulfric Shaw could supposedly teach them of.

They came into a central garden, exposed to the chilly November air and overgrown with weeds. A flat stone sat in its center and an ancient man wearing a simple white robe sat upon that stone, mediating. Novare took a sharp breath and both of the women came to a halt.

There was a long moment of silence in which Elsa wondered if he had noticed them. Just when she opened her mouth to speak, the bald monk greeted them.

"You survived the wards. That is… impressive."

Elsa glanced at Novare sidelong before speaking. "Are you Wulfric Shaw?"

"I am many things, including a scholar, a poet, a scribe, a flautist, and a very old man. And yes. I am also Wulfric Shaw." The monk spoke with a slow, forceful deliberateness behind his words.

"But it seems that you already know who I am, so the more prudent question is: who are you?"

Elsa considered the man for a long moment, taking in his ascetic appearance. He was exceedingly old, but had the keen eyes of a man whose age brought wisdom. The queen decided that deception was not the way to convince this man to help her.

"Queen Elsa Siguror, of Arendelle."

In a stuttering voice, from behind her, Novare chimed in, "And Odette Novare, also of Arendelle."

The old man chewed their words like a meal and said thoughtfully, "It is not often that a ruler of men is able to traverse the wards. You are rare among your kind to be so pure of heart, Queen Elsa."

"Thank you." Elsa bowed her head to Wulfric Shaw.

"Do not thank me, silly girl," Shaw said, chuckling deep in his throat. "I control the wards no more than I control the setting of the sun. I am merely the keeper of this temple, and its magical defenses, not its creator."

Elsa looked around the courtyard, taking in the expertly cultivated trees and bushes. "What exactly are you keeping here, Shaw?"

"Ah." Shaw shifted on his stone, his forehead creasing in a series of frown lines. "So that is why you have come to me. You wish to know of ever darkness."

Deciding that now was the time to explain herself, Elsa began, "About a month ago, one of my closest advisors was murdered in her own home, presumably by poison. However, although her cause of death could fairly easily be linked to poisoning, this evidence was quietly kept under wraps. When I went to investigate this a man tried unsuccessfully to murder me."

"Unsuccessfully?" Shaw smiled keenly.

"I have powers that I do not believe the man anticipated," Elsa said simply. "During interrogation, the man told me that I was to find you. You would teach me of an encroaching darkness that is threatening our world. Was he correct?"

The women waited with bated breath as Shaw stared at them for some time. Elsa could only wonder what was going through Novare's head right now; the queen had told her very little of the reason they were here, and certainly nothing of a great threat.

"Yes." Shaw stood from his stone and nodded. "He is correct, and this is certainly grave news. I had not anticipated to be the keeper that would live to see the return of Everdark, but I have prepared for the eventuality. Follow me."

With that, Shaw turned and walked across the courtyard, exiting through a tunnel opposite the one whose entrance the women occupied. Novare turned to Elsa, breathless.

"Wha-what does that mean, Elsa? What is he talking about?"

Elsa frowned, a gnawing pit in her stomach.

"I don't know for sure, but there's only one way to find out." Elsa began to stride across the courtyard, following Shaw into the tunnel he had started down; after a moment or two of consternation, Novare followed.

They came into an apse, but it was not a traditional shrine set in its center. Instead, a towering stele, engraved with row upon row of script in what appeared to Elsa to be some early form of German, dominated the center of the small room. Shaw ran his fingers along the surface of the monolith, murmuring softly to himself as if he were humming a familiar song. The ancient monk turned to face the women as they too approached the stele and held his palm out to them.

"Come no closer. I fear that the wards will harm you if the spirits believe that you bear ill will to the stele."

Elsa and Novare came to a sudden halt, the queen softly considering the monolith and wondering exactly what she had gotten herself into.

"I have lived here for many years as keeper of this monolith. I was raised my entire life to perform this duty as keeper, just as I in turn began to raise the man who would replace me. Unfortunately, I was unwise in my mentorship. I gave my young ward too much information about the darkness without giving him proper reason to fear it, and he fell to the sway of another power. He was the only person alive who knows both my location and my name, so either my former ward was your assailant, or he confided in him. Either way he has been lost to darkness."

There was a long pause as Shaw's face stretched with lines of sadness. Elsa could tell that he had cared for the young man and hoped against hope that he hadn't fallen to the service of this dark power, but in a flash Shaw's face had returned to the stele and he cleared his throat to begin his tale.

"This stele bears on it the story that I am about to tell you, passed down from keeper to keeper for thousands of years. A hundred generations have prepared me for this moment, and I am honored and terrified to be the one who will tell you this tale. Prepare yourself for trials of light and darkness," Shaw said, turning to face them. He began to weave his hands through the air in complex patterns, and Novare gasped as spellwork wove images into the air before them. "For the story of Everdark is one of humanity and the face of evil itself."

As the old monk's voice served as an ethereal narrator, an army was conjured in the space between the speaker and his audience.

"In ancient times, before Bavaria and Arendelle, before men whispered prayers to God, before even the Great Pyramids, there was an ancient kingdom called Celestus. It was all-powerful, spanning the fertile crescent and stretching along the Mediterranean coast as far as Spain. It was a nation of great warriors, but also of great minds, and it was ruled by a master of both disciplines."

Before the women now was a magnificent throne covered with gold and lapis lazuli, sat astride by a magnificent man, handsome, muscular and tall. He had dark, curled hair and a powerful jaw, olive skin and thick lips.

"Dominus was the emperor of the entire world known to the people of Celestus, and it was natural that they thought him the most powerful of a pantheon of Gods. He was the only one who chose to live amongst men, and therefore the one to whom the world prayed. But none of the Celestian pantheon of gods were real, least of all the pretender Dominus."

Harsh red light consumed Dominus and replaced him with an encroaching darkness that spread through the room like ink. There was silence for a long enough time that Elsa began to wonder if this was the abrupt end to the tale, but when Shaw continued it was with a hushed, hoarse whisper laden with fear.

"There is certainly a God of our world, and it is not the one you pray to."

Slowly, almost as if something that Elsa had always known was there was revealing itself to her, the head of a vulture emerged from the darkness. The queen could also make out the traces of great wings unfurling at the edges of the room.

"It is known by the Keepers of the Shard only as Everdark. We do not know if it had any other name, but those twisted souls who still pay homage to the Forgotten God do so without blaspheming it. It is every force of evil and entropy this existence has ever known and it wields them all with unchecked authority. The Keepers do not know how it came into existence, but its only purpose seems to be the annihilation of all life on this world.

"Everdark was angered by the pagan humanity's worship of the false god Dominus, so it blighted the earth with a decade-long drought that would eventually claim the lives of over half of Celestus."

The women saw a man rise from the swirling darkness and lower a vulture mask onto his head.

"During these years thousands abandoned their belief in Dominus in favor of a more vengeful god. As ever-larger swaths of the civilized world fell to worship of the Forgotten God, Celestus crumbled."

Elsa heard screaming and the cries of children as masked men torched buildings. Quickly the image expanded outward and they saw a magnificent city lit ablaze.

"Finally, Dominus realized that his swan song was at hand. He challenged Everdark to a battle, a duel of God and pretender." The handsome Dominus and the twisting darkness swirled about each other before the eyes of the women, and then they collided. "Dominus never stood a chance. He was annihilated almost instantly, and the world fell to the hands of darkness."

The vision began to fade, and the room began to grow lighter. Elsa turned towards Shaw and frowned. "What happened next? If Everdark won, where was he all this time?"

The old monk walked about the side of the stele and smiled wanly.

"A great hero rose to fight him. I know not the hero's name, for it is not writ upon the shard. Perhaps humanity's savior wished to fade into memory. Nonetheless, the hero gave the world faith again and defeated Everdark the only way we know how to."

"What is that?" Novare frowned, still standing slightly behind Elsa.

"They convinced the world to stop believing in it. Only that which we give the power to control us can do so. By falling under the sway of evil and fear, humanity doomed themselves to more evil and fear. The great hero of antiquity recalled the light, shattered the Forgotten God's centers of faith, and inscribed the Keeper's duty onto this stele, such that we might remind the world of its folly if ever the darkness returned. You came to me and gave me reason to believe that this day has arrived."

"So you think, then, that the man who tried to kill me was a… believer in Everdark?" Elsa's question was primarily rhetorical, but for some reason she wanted confirmation nonetheless.

"What I believe is not so important as what you believe, Queen Elsa," Shaw said emphatically as he stepped towards the women. "I am but a simple man who can do little to stem the oncoming tide. You are queen of a nation and a witch with abilities that mine could never hope to rival. What you choose to do could change our collective path forever."

Elsa felt Shaw and Novare's eyes trained squarely on her, and she took a deep breath, considering all that she had heard here. It seemed impossible, but the queen of Arendelle had a high tolerance for the unexpected by this point.

"Alright," Elsa said with as much confidence as she could muster. "I believe."


	11. Chapter Ten

Author's Note:

Hello again, fellow fans of Frozen! What you are about to read is the (hopefully) riveting conclusion to Arc One: Shadows of the Past! This also means that we've reached the point where uploads are going to start coming slower, because this is the end of the downpayment on my larger Novel. (I'd already finished this amount when I started uploading, but now I'm writing new material again.) There's one last surprise coming before Arc Two begins, so keep an eye out for that, and know that I'm shooting for roughly a chapter per week.

Once again, thank you all for taking this story into your lives and I hope that the end of Arc One makes you every bit as excited as I am to continue our journey together. :)

xxx

Chapter Ten

 _Early in his life the wizard was told by his tutors that his greatest enemy would be found inside of him. From that moment onwards the wizard learned only that which he could teach himself._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Wesson & Co. Factory

London

October 31st, 1842

"Everyone on the ground!" Chief Sullivan bellowed as the constables flooded the center of the warehouse.

Nine guns pointed towards no less than twenty hooded figures in the center of the room, all surrounding an altar. Tied with rope to the surface of the altar was an unconscious young woman, lying limp but unharmed before the knife of the cult's leader. The leader turned around to take in the constables, far calmer than Hans would have imagined him to be.

Several of the cultists had made to dive for the ground, but their leader raised his hands placatingly and they refrained from doing so. He smiled at the chief of police in an odd way as two cultists broke ranks to stand beside him.

"Sullivan," the man said in an amicable tone. "Seems you and your men finally saw through the ruse, as it were? Figured out we've been tampering with your reports?"

"Everybody on the ground!" Chief Sullivan repeated his bellowing command. "Now or we start shooting!"

In a soft, almost patronizing tone, the leader smiled. "Well we certainly don't want things to come to that, now do we? If any of your men so much as thinks about firing their weapons, this young woman will meet her bitter end." The man's knife flashed and was at her throat.

Macnair nudged Hans in the side from their position and nodded towards a nearby pile of crates when the former prince looked. Hans nodded and they softly began to edge their way towards the cover. Hans studied the figures closest to the leader, assuming that they were the wizards he had been warned about.

Hans's heart was hammering like a drum in his chest and he could feel his pupils dilating by the moment. He could taste something coppery although it felt like there was no saliva at all in his mouth.

"I've been searching for you for seven goddamn years, Voight," the chief growled, hands twitching while they gripped a rifle. "We came in here to stop you and we aren't leaving until we have. You've killed so many goddamn people during this twisted game of yours that the blood's on your hands. Not mine."

Voight sighed somewhat dramatically. "Ah well. I suppose you're right."

His knife flashed and a jagged tear opened along the woman's throat, spilling red everywhere.

All hell broke loose.

Hans and Macnair dove for the crates, opening fire while they did. All the other officers started shooting as well and the room was suddenly filled with the earsplitting music of death. The cultists surrounding Voight rushed towards him as the fighting began; whether they expected him to protect them somehow, or they were sacrificing their lives to shield their leader was unclear, but the effect was obvious.

The cultists were mowed down within seconds of horrible violence, the bodies piling on the floor in front of the two wizards and Voight himself.

Amidst the carnage, Voight sighed. "Kill them all."

Immediately one of the wizards ignited, his entire body erupting into flame. The pyromancer lashed in either direction with trails of fire that extended nearly twenty feet in either direction. Fortescue and Rawles dove for the ground as the incendiary lash kissed the ground near them, but Rawles wasn't fast enough. He was caught and burst into flame instantaneously.

The dying man's horrible screaming chilled Hans to the bone. It was a horrible noise, a noise encompassing all the agony and terror that Rawles felt as he burned alive.

The rest of the officers had fallen back from the pyromancer's assault, likewise taking cover behind abandoned warehouse equipment and crates. The other men had continued to fire, but the wizards and Voight remained miraculously unharmed, not so much as touched by any of the bullets.

Despite the terror and adrenaline clouding his mind, Hans realized that the other wizard had not outwardly done anything like the pyromancer, but his face was still a mask of concentration. Hans ducked around the crate and fired at the pyromancer with a dead aim. The wizard didn't even flinch and wasn't hit.

Hans shouted as loud as he could over the bangs of gunfire, "The other one's protecting them!"

Just as Hans finished shouting the pyromancer cast a fireball towards the tables Bander and Trop were taking cover behind. They dove aside as it exploded and the pyromancer caught them both with its lashes of flame, lighting them ablaze.

Hans realized that they were all going to die.

Voight laughed over the horrible screams of the dying, a cold, callous sound. "Seems that you've caught a bigger fish than you bargained for, gentlemen. Perhaps in your last moments of life you'll realize how meaningless your heroics were."

Macnair glanced around the edge of their cover and saw the wizards and Voight approaching the pile of crates behind which the chief, Connolly, and Wilkes were hidden. The man turned and saw Fortescue, shaken and with his back to a crate, across the floor. Hans saw them nod to each other, and suddenly Macnair whipped around to Hans and began to speak rapidly.

"We're gonna rush the wizard who's protecting them from behind. You be ready to start shooting as soon as he's down, goddammit!" As Macnair spoke he shoved his rifle into Hans's arms, forcing his hands around the grip.

Hans struggled to find something to say but words wouldn't come. He eventually nodded weakly and whirled about the side of his crate to face the wizards, lining the rifle's ironsight to the back of the pyromancer's head.

The pyromancer had exploded the crates behind which the chief, Connolly and Wilkes were hiding, but rather than die as Bander and Trop had done, it seemed they were going down fighting. The men leapt through the blaze, shooting their firearms and each shouting his personal salutation to the face of death.

Wilkes was taken instantly, hit by a fireball with such force that the man exploded. In the same moment Fortescue picked himself up and began to charge the wizards from behind, drawing a knife and screaming. Macnair turned and clapped Hans on the shoulder.

"Live fast, kid." Hans's friend jumped and charged after Fortescue, leaving Hans to keep the pyromancer in his sites and watch these men die for him.

The pyromancer caught Connoly with his whip and set him ablaze. He twisted and flicked the other lash; it shot through the chief's chest like a dart. Sullivan's face momentary flickered with fear before he exploded into a great pillar of flames.

The wizards had just begun to turn when Fortescue and Macnair were upon the other wizard, stabbing him in the back. The pyromancer whirled and set them both ablaze before the former prince's eyes.

Hans squeezed his rifle's trigger. He heard nothing but he saw the pyromancer's head collapse; he saw the wizard twist a bit from the impact and collapse onto the floor, spewing blood.

The former prince trained his rifle on Voight and saw no fear in the man's gaze as he fired again, hitting the leader of the cultists just below the heart.

Hans dragged himself up from around the box and scrambled across the floor to Macnair, who was still struggling against the consuming flame. The former prince tore off his jacket and threw it over the flames, smothering them out. Even as Hans removed the coat, however, he could tell that Macnair wasn't going to survive.

His friend's face was a horrible mask of melted flesh, a twisted counterpart to the handsome man who had once called it his own. All the flesh of the man's neck had burned away and Hans could see the bone beneath peeking through the cauterized mess.

Hans knelt beside Macnair's head but dared not move it. He did not cry because he couldn't feel any emotion except a swelling tide of hopelessness. Hans's whole body was tingling and he tasted copper in his mouth; he could feel his heart hammering against his chest but all his flesh felt cold, as if there hadn't been blood there in a long time.

After a moment Hans realized that Macnair was trying to talk to him, but all that came out of his mouth was bubbles of blood. Shifting to bring his ear close to his friend's lips, Hans heard the man's last words, nothing more than a gasping whisper.

"Your… face… is different, Sculler." Macnair's eyes glazed over and the tension in his body seemed to melt away.

Hans suddenly felt the emotional firewall crumble and then tears stung at his eyes, burning trails down his cold face as they went. He reached up and felt his own jawline. Darby Sculler was gone forever, just like Macnair and Fortescue and all of the others.

After a long time Hans stood and walked to the edge of the warehouse. He stopped at the door, the few tears he had shed leaving salty tracks on his face as he thought. The men he had fought along deserved a hero's burial, but the former prince needed to destroy the evidence that he had been here.

He stepped into the cool night air, leaving the fires to burn behind him. Hans felt strangely surreal as he stepped into the street to see it empty. Surely within minutes it would be flooded with constables from other precincts called to respond to the disturbance; it was hard for Hans to realize that everything that had just happened had passed in a blink of an eye.

The former prince stopped and leaned against a building across the street from the old factory and turned back to see that the flames were spreading rapidly. Already Hans could see an orange glow through the topmost windows in the building; by the time other police officers arrived it would be a proper inferno.

Hans was alive. And he had succeeded. He had killed the wizards this time when he had failed before. However, the bitter taste in his mouth still felt like failure. Hans decided that he deserved answers. He needed to know why Hades had wanted Voight dead, at least for some sense of closure. At least so he could know that all those officers hadn't died pointlessly. Besides, if he was putting his life, or undeath, or whatever he currently was, on the line for Hades, he deserved to know why he was doing it.

Just as Hans realized that he didn't know how he was supposed to return to the Prince of Death's palace, the nearest church bell began to toll midnight. As it did, the former prince felt a strange tingling sensation and knew instinctively that he was being recalled. Hans shut his eyes and felt a bit more stinging, though this time he felt that it was because ash had gotten into his eyes.

When Hans opened them again he was standing in Hades's throne room.


	12. Interlude - Hans

Author's Note:

I would love to add a cover image to TLD, but don't really have a good idea for an image in the public domain. If any of you readers are artists and would like to volunteer a piece I would love to feature your artwork as the cover image! PM me :)

xxx

Interlude – Hans

 _The wizard realized eventually that he could only teach himself so much. So he began to search for a darker master._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Hades's Temple

The Edge of Hell

November 1st, 1842

Hans was surprised to see that the throne was empty.

He turned all the way about the cavernous chamber and started when he saw the Prince of Death entering through a side corridor that he had never noticed before, cast such as it was into shadow.

"Welcome back to the afterlife, Wonderboy," Hades said casually as he entered the chamber. "That was pretty damn good work you did down there, especially for your first time on the job."

Hans knew exactly what he wanted to say to Hades, but found himself struggling to find the words to do it. Hades crossed the room and leaned against the side of his throne, a forearm resting on the armrest.

"I can tell that you're looking for an explanation, aren't you?" Hades's yellow gaze searched the man across from him. "You'd be right to think that I've been keeping some fairly important stuff from you, but I hope you'll understand why."

The Prince of Death turned and began to walk again towards the passageway, motioning for Hans to follow him. They were cast with torchlight as they stepped into the corridor and Hans turned his head to look at the deity as he continued his exposition.

"You have to realize that you're only the most recent in a very long line of servants. I've been at this for many thousands of years. In that time, I've come to realize all of the little fallibilities of the human condition, and it's made me a bit less than trusting with my newest servants. At least, until I can tell that they're worth my trouble."

Frustrated, Hans said, "So you just threw me into something way over my head to see if I survived?"

Hades sighed. "Yes. I realize that you probably don't appreciate that much, but you've got no rights, kid. You're dead and your soul is already mine. This is your second chance."

Hans felt a surge of anger at the deity walking beside him but realized full well that he could do nothing about it. Hades was right; Hans was powerless.

"But look, kid, I want you on my side. A happy servant is a productive one. Now that you've proven both your ability and your loyalty, some explanations are in order. "

They reached a spiral staircase that stretched down into the space below the temple itself, and as they began to descend the steps Hans frowned.

"Where are we going?"

Hades frowned, his flaming head providing a flickering light source as they descended the steps into darkness.

"The best place to give you some answers," he said enigmatically.

They came into a wider chamber than a mere hallway, a room rectangular in nature, with branching passages adjunct to either side of the space. Alongside the walls were instillations not unlike a museum, paintings and sculptures depicting ancient scenes of warriors and kings, regal men and women of great power.

"This is… a museum, of sorts," Hades said as they continued to walk through the chambers. "Relics of the past, really. Trinkets to remember people of great importance by."

Hans looked closer at the plaque below one of the paintings, frowning at the inscription. _The Coronation of King Leovold_ did not depict any monarch that Hans had learned of.

"Never heard of him, I'll bet." Hades crossed his arms as he too stared at the painting, a frown etched deep into his face. "And why should you? All he did was consolidate all of the knowledge of Gaul in a great library that has long since been burned."

Hades sighed and contemplated Leovold's proud face. "The reason I brought you here is to show you that every single one of these people have been forgotten by history. That's why I collected these artworks, after all. A sort of afterlife for the dead in body and in remembrance."

"What does this have to do with the mission you sent me on? Or answering my questions?" Hans had trouble seeing where the Prince of Death was headed, but he hoped that following him to the next corridor would help.

"We all fade with time. No matter how loved, a day will come when someone, anyone who has ever lived is completely, entirely, forgotten. It might take a hundred years or ten thousand, but one day all things come to pass."

Hans felt a strange pit forming in his stomach as he thought about his own legacy, entirely forgotten. He felt even worse after he considered that he hadn't left behind a particularly noble one.

"This same transience applies, believe it or not, to gods, too. We might seem like the permanent tenants of our domains to mortals, but the truth is that there's been gods before us all and others will come after us."

They came into a last chamber that Hans felt quite certain was their destination. Hades turned to look at Hans, something unfathomable in his eyes.

"Actually, uh, until comparatively recently on the grand scheme of things, the job I currently hold was the only exception. Until I took over the position, there had only ever been one Ruler of Death. I don't know if it ever had a name, but the humans that know of its existence call it Everdark."

The room they had entered was a vaulted atrium chamber, with high walls and a higher ceiling. The walls were covered with ancient parchment and animal skins, bearing the artistic works of hundreds of different people, presumably spanning countless years. Every single one of the paintings, etchings, and masks shared a single figure, however; the same figure that dominated the center of the room as a massive, eerily lifelike statue.

Everdark had the powerful body of a horse and the broad chest and arms of a man, muscular and aggressive. It had massive wings that stretched through the free space of the vaulted chamber about the creature for over ten feet in either direction, covered in sable feathers. Everdark had the head of a vulture and carried a massive, wicked scythe in its hands. The statue was mounted on a stone platform that had a jutting protrusion at the near end, and Everdark's front legs were placed at the top.

"Before I occupied this temple…. it did."

Hans suddenly realized that the murals he had seen when he first entered the temple were covered in images of vulture-men, twisted creatures that looked eerily similar to the statue before him.

Hans tried to look away from the creature's horrible visage but found even the statue to run his throat dry. The former prince finally tore his gaze away to look at Hades, who frowned around his sharp teeth.

"I'm sure that, even though you can't quite tell what it is, you can feel something strange in this room. Even just a representation of Everdark is imbued with dark, twisted powers. This chamber is awash in a sea of dark magic."

Now that Hades had called attention to it, Hans could feel the evil energy permeating everything in the room, covering every surface and threatening to drive him mad. Suddenly feeling as if his throat were tightening, Hans said, "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because now you know what I'm up against. Why do you think that I've held servants in the mortal world for so long, Hans? Do you think I give a damn about the petty squabbles of men? No, I've kept servants all these thousands of years to help ensure that this thing never comes back!"

Hades had turned and began to pace, gesticulating wildly at Hans and the statue.

"I'm sending you back to kill its followers, Hans! If nobody believes in Everdark it can't return! And for the last two hundred years belief in this thing finally started to wane enough your world that I got complacent. And then suddenly, within your lifetime, cults worshipping Everdark are springing up left and right!"

Hades paced back to Hans and grasped the former prince's shoulders, honest fear in his gaze.

"I'm terrified, Hans. Absolutely terrified. If Everdark returns I have no doubt that I'm screwed, you're screwed, we're all up a creek without a goddamn paddle. And you just might be the last line of defense."

A weight of responsibility unlike Hans had ever felt before grasped at the former prince's chest. "I can't do this alone. We need help."

Hades's face collapsed and he sighed. "We already have some. Mr. Gold and some others that you haven't met yet. But its, hard, kid, getting people to join you on a losing battle. Especially not when Everdark promises a depth of power that I could never match. Everybody roots for the underdog but nobody wants to join him."

Hans had one more question, something that had long tugged at the back of his mind. "Three years ago, when I first learned that the Queen of Arendelle was a witch, I had never had any contact with magic before. Immediately, everyone treated her as if she were a monster. Is that because all those people just feared what they didn't understand, or…"

Hades picked up Hans's slack. "All gods have magic. As you can imagine."

The Prince of Death began to lead the way from Everdark's chamber, and Hans followed, grateful for the chance to be free of the darkness.

"In antiquity, the way that humans first received magic was as a boon from a certain god who might have happened to favor them. Patronage, of a sort. However, the human soul is not well-equipped to handle being a conduit for magic. It wasn't until the rise of Everdark that we realized this, but the taint of magic in the blood of a human made them very susceptible to the God of Darkness's control.

"Wizards fell to Everdark in droves, and as such humans without magic quickly developed a healthy distrust of them. During Everdark's original reign, wizards were used as elite enforcers of its regime, loyal servitors to darkness who used their power to enslave and torture their fellow humans."

"Does that mean that because Everdark is trying to return, wizards are going to start following it again?" Hans had never really imagined Elsa as evil; even when he had tried to kill her he realized that she wasn't the monster that the others had assumed. Would she resist it?

"They already have. Being a wizard, kid," Hades said as they wound their way through the myriad passages through the temple, "is exceptionally rare. One in ten thousand or less. What do you think the odds are that two of them would have just so happened to be in that warehouse just hours ago?"

They came back into the throne room, finishing where they started. Hans turned to glance at the Prince of Death and saw him again looking exceptionally flawed. Old.

Hades turned and clapped a hand on the former prince's shoulder, saying, "Thanks, again, for what you did tonight, kid. I promise that from now on out, you'll know everything going in. We've got a long goddamn fight ahead of us, wonderboy. I just hope we keep punching 'till we go down."


	13. Chapter Eleven

Arc Two

Recalled to Life

Chapter Eleven

 _Today the Arendelle Court Assembles to hear the proposition of the 1843 platform. I feel like I've finally established a royal mandate, so we're really pulling out all the stops this year. I expect some sort of opposition, but hopefully I can persuade the noblemen to see reason. In any case, this all feels awfully trivial in the face of what may soon come, but I can't just let my kingdom fall apart in the meanwhile, can I?_

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Royal Palace,

Arendelle

November 18th, 1842

Anna deftly knotted the lace at the back of the queen's dress while holding two pins in her mouth.

"Don't you think it's a little extreme to sew yourself into this thing? Doesn't that seem a little, I don't know, much?" The redhead mumbled around the pins and, as she finished lacing, ran a thread through one and began stitching.

"Nonsense, Anna," the silver-haired queen said with laughter on her lips. "I already wore a dress made of ice to the court opening last year, so I wanted to switch things up this year. Turns out real fabric sometimes needs a bit more assistance."

Elsa could feel Anna roll her eyes behind her, though she could also tell that her younger sister was smiling. After the princess finished the quick stitch, Elsa turned on her seat to gaze into her vanity's mirror and began to weave her own hair.

"I'm real excited about everything that you're going to be trying to do, sis," Anna said animatedly as she tied a ribbon around her own bun.

The queen's younger sister was wearing a more mature dress than usual, and one that Elsa was quite sure would be worn exactly once, but the occasion warranted something spiffier than the princess would catch herself in on a day-to-day basis. It was a deep green with no sleeves and a collar, which Elsa thought looked quite nice but Anna insisted was strangling her.

"I mean, I know that it's going to be hard to get everything to pass and probably not all so quickly, but breaking down the doors of their men's club and demanding equal treatment is sure to wake them up."

Elsa smiled. "Thank you, Anna. If I could get Vander and Sadden to sign off on this, I can get anyone."

Montaigne punctuated the queen's comments as he stepped into the room, smiling at the young women and bowing politely.

"The time has come misses," he said, a certain excitement to his tone as well. "Your carriage awaits."

xxx

The platform, by tradition, was not proposed at the palace, nor at the courts. No, her father's father had set the precedent of proposing the New Year's platform to the nobility in a prominent, up-and-coming city center of Arendelle. It was good for the public to see the monarch engaged in the community in such a way, and the secondhand prestige of hosting such an event made it a competitive bidding process among likely candidates.

This year the Endelmann-Brachs banking guild had outbid the competition and therefore the platform would be proposed in their North Branch offices, which had opened in downtown Arendelle earlier this very year. Elsa had only been to the building once before, when it had initially opened; a sudden awareness of this fact reminded Elsa how little she actually left the royal palace.

The building was three stories tall and fronted by a magnificent, gothic façade. Large, stained glass windows bore images of the fifteenth-century founders and framed a magnificent set of stone stairs that led up to the building's entrance. The branch had prepared a lavish red carpet along the staircase, and behind a rope fence flanking its sides was a crushing mass of Arendelle's citizens.

As the queen and princess left the carriage they were immediately flanked by several armed men, an unpleasant reminder that Elsa's security had been increased manifold given the recent incidents. The sisters were ushered hastily through the cheering press of their citizenry; Elsa would have loved to stop and make some sort of statement before the masses, but she realized that it was asking for trouble. So the sisters limited themselves to smiles and waves as they climbed the steps to the massive bank.

All this was swept to the wayside as they entered the vaulted chamber just inside the building. High, impossibly high the ceiling rose, with ribbed balustrades and crystal chandeliers hanging from the roof like an inverted field of diamonds. The floors were speckled marble and glossy to a sheen, covered with more of the elegant, rich carpets and populated with just about everybody who was anybody in Arendelle.

Tiered seating had been constructed in the lobby to hold all 113 members of the Royal Court, curved like a horseshoe around a flanked podium behind which Elsa and her advisors would sit. The seating was filled to the brim and they all broke into applause as the queen and princess entered the hall.

Elsa's smiled and waved, nodding politely at the convocation of nobles. Theirs was the kind of sycophantic applause that Elsa did not cherish at the same level as the apolitical adulation of her citizenry, but nonetheless deserved her recognition.

Anna took the queen's arm and they crossed to the center podium, which was seated with six chairs. The princess murmured luck to the queen and sat to her right as the magistrates took their positions about the monarch. As the applause began to subside, Elsa turned to her side and smiled at Montaigne, who had taken up standing in the position that came most natural to him: just off her shoulder, her right hand.

"Thank you," Elsa began, her voice ringing clear and proud through the beautiful chamber. The last of the applause came to a rest and the queen continued. "Thank you. I would like to begin by extending a very sincere thanks to the gentlemen at Endelmann-Brachs who so graciously offered the venue for today's rituals."

Elsa nodded in the direction of Friedrich Endelmann, a nobleman and member of Arendelle's court but also the heir to the family who had founded the influential banking guild. He smiled graciously and nodded about the horseshoe to the other nobles, drinking in their polite applause and clearly enjoying the center of attention.

"I would also like to thank all returning members of the court for a year of service to our shared nation, and I would like to extend a gracious welcome to those of you for whom this is a new adventure."

Generally, the House of Lords didn't pass its seats via election; rather, the true elites on the court passed their positions along familial lines to preserve a sense of heritage in Arendelle's government. Personally Elsa did not care for this much, but she realized that the Siguror family was no better.

On the other hand, the House of Commons tended to pass its seats democratically, with elections held for their members every two years in October after the sitting members' terms expired. Even-numbered years marked a changing of the guard in terms of the House of Commons, and Elsa nodded her recognition to these new faces.

"This July marked the third year I've spent as your Queen, and I can say that the experience has been incredibly humbling. During that time we've made significant inroads with better education for our children, better protection of justice in our courts, and a literacy rate among our adults that is nearing eighty percent."

Elsa cut through the applause to continue, "There's certainly a lot to be proud of, but there's also plenty more work to do. It is with great pride that I present to you all the most progressive platform that this nation has ever seen. In the next year we will make inroads to fighting poverty, we will legalize same-sex marriage, and begin comprehensive welfare reform programs.

"In short, Arendelle will become more inclusive, more free, and more equal. We will be a shining example to the rest of Europe and a champion of human rights. We will prove to the world that a monarchy can be every bit as free and equal as a Republic, and we will make this journey together."

After her sentences, as was traditional for public appearances of the monarch, the nobles would applaud politely. Elsa could tell that they were thrown off by her words, that they hadn't expected something so radical to come from a queen who was still a comparative newcomer. She heard whisperings amongst the crowd, inaudible at her distance but unmistakable in meaning. Arendelle hadn't had a queen, after all, in over four hundred years; was this platform symptomatic of her gender?

But nonetheless, political posturing required that they keep clapping, and so they did; perhaps with less enthusiasm than before. And so went the bulk of the queen's twenty-minute speech; as Elsa fleshed out her assertions in more detail, the sense of discomfort among the Houses seemed to intensify. After all, they were men who had spent their lives supporting the status quo. That would change, Elsa hoped.

"These changes are radical, to be sure. My father's rule was just, but it was marked by a continuation of the status quo that my grandfather had set for him. I do not wish to spend my time as queen toeing the same line. Arendelle is a land of great promise and great opportunity, and it is high time that we began to enact the change we know is possible.

"We will begin building the world of tomorrow today. And we will do it together."

Elsa inclined her head in the slightest to the crowd of her nobles, and they quit off of their murmuring to applaud. She could tell that they were displeased, but no matter. She was the queen, after all.

xxx

Later that night Elsa retired to her chambers, eager to remove the heels that she had been wedged into all day. She was determined not to worry any more about politics tonight; Anna had begun to voice the concern that Elsa overworked herself, and right now the queen agreed.

Elsa stepped into her chambers to see Montaigne sitting at the oaken desk aside the opposite wall. He had his hands clasped in his lap, and he inclined his head to the queen as she entered.

"That was a rousing speech today, miss."

"I should have listened to my advisors and tried to ease them into the reforms." Elsa sighed, slipping her shoes off and sitting on the side of her bed to massage her feet. "But what's done is done. I have plenty of other things to worry about right now."

"You certainly do, miss." Montaigne stood and adjusted his cravat, weariness in his eyes. "I want to talk to you about the death of Agatha Merke and the recent attempt on your life."

Elsa turned, looking intently at her master servant. "What about it?"

"Several notes, actually," Montaigne began. "First of all, I spoke a bit to some of the nobles after your speech, and I suppose word has gotten out about the botched assassination. Which isn't surprising; news of this nature is never truly secret for long. Rumors are circulating about the incident, and some members of your court were… surprised, to say the least, that you didn't mention it in your speech."

Elsa frowned. "What did they expect? Of course I'm not going to waste time talking about it, there's nothing the court even needs to know about it. What's done is done."

Montaigne smiled. "Rumor is a powerful mistress, I'm afraid. Perhaps setting the record straight about the matter would quell some of the discussion, miss."

"I'll think about it. I'm sure you realize that you won't get more out of me on this right now. What else about the attempt, though?"

"As you are no doubt aware," Montaigne began, "the assassination of Merke and the attempt on your own life must be connected, miss. The same person who obscured the cause of her death knew your location when you went to investigate the mortuary."

"Yes, I've thought about this," Elsa said, sighing and unleashing her braid, shaking her hair loose and running a hand through it. "Which means that it's either someone with a great sense of intuition, or someone close enough to me to know where I would be that day."

"That's exactly what's troubling me, miss."

"But you don't have any idea who it is either, do you?" Elsa felt a worming pit in her stomach. It was bad enough to think that someone fairly close to Elsa was trying to kill her. It was worse to consider that they had fallen to worship of a darker power.

"No, I don't," Montaigne admitted. "But the man who tried to kill you wasn't from Arendelle; that much was obvious enough. The chance that he independently decided to come to Arendelle expressly to start assassinating our royalty is very small. Someone brought him here, someone set him down that path. I may not know the motives of the ringleader, but I suspect that your trip to Bavaria concerned as much."

Montaigne fixed Elsa with a piercing gaze that returned her to her childhood. Her former tutor had always possessed a knack for seeing through deception, and though Elsa had told none but Anna and Novare her true motives for the journey, she had expected Montaigne to draw the correct conclusion sooner or later.

"I trust that you're withholding the information because it is of a very sensitive nature, and I likewise trust you to continue to be careful about what you say to those closest to you."

"What can I do, though, Montaigne? Start investigating everyone above a certain level of clearance in the castle? Is that really what this has come to?"

Montaigne sighed, seeming to roll the queen's words over in his head. "It might be, miss. The longer we wait, the closer the ringleader will get to succeeding where they failed before. And I'll die myself before I see that happen."


	14. Chapter Twelve

Author's Note:

There was some internal debate on this chapter, believe me. It earns the story a ratings bump to Mature due to heavy language. The decision to use coarse language in this chapter developed organically, as while writing it I found that the text seemed insincere when I was awkwardly trying to make do with softer expletives. In addition, I was going to have to confront the ratings beast anyway; a chapter currently in the storyboarding phase has themes that are probably too adult for a Teen rating. Sooner is probably better than later when it comes to these things.

On the other hand, my desire has always been to produce a fanfic that remains ideologically pure (that is, it still feels like Frozen). Rest assured that I wouldn't be making the change if I didn't consider it important to the integrity of the story that I'm sharing with you.

Anyway, back to the story!

xxx

Chapter Twelve

 _The wizard searched the world ceaselessly for knowledge and eventually found it in an ancient book._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Royal Palace in Olympia,

the Southern Isles

May 3rd, 1835

Hans generally found himself cooped up in the library these days. Between lessons, it was the place he could most easily avoid his brothers. More than ever recently, they had made it clear to the prince that he was unwelcome among them.

But it didn't really matter to him; Hans never really minded the silence anyway. So it was that the afternoon of May 3rd found him hidden away in a corner of the library reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_ for the fifth time.

Hans sighed, turning and glancing out of the window nearest him. A late afternoon sun filtered through, casting the ground in a gilded light. The apple trees were in full blossom, beautiful white flowers dotting the foliage that reminded Hans so much of the ones that Mallory had woven a crown for herself of that magical day they had stolen themselves out to the countryside.

Thinking of Mallory made Hans realize that he was late for marching practice. Again. The prince abandoned his book on the table and rushed from the library, swearing under his breath. Admiral James seemed hellbent on treating Hans like any of the other men, which extended to harsh punishments when he stepped out of line.

Hans had just reached the bottom floor and was headed to the courtyard assembly when he heard the type of raucous laughter he associated only with his eldest brother. The prince wouldn't normally have shuddered to a halt, but something about the laughter bespoke something darker than mirth.

"I'm telling you, I wouldn't be caught dead with a girl from Brenton," Hans heard his eldest brother Maxwell's voice coming down the nearest hallway.

Thinking quickly, Hans saw a nearby arras and dove behind it, concealing himself just as Maxwell, the prince's next-oldest sibling Adolphus, and a voice Hans didn't recognize entered the hallway.

The unknown voice laughed again. "Look, Max, all I'm saying is that these new money girls are desperate to get in with high society, and they're willing to do _anything_ to get there."

Hans felt a strange pounding in his ears as the young men approached. The unknown man must be one of Maxwell's friends; the privileged dilettantes that the oldest of Hans's siblings crowded himself with wasted away their families' considerable fortunes and reputations on gambling and meaningless dalliances. Worst of all, the rest of Hans's brothers acted as sycophantic hangers-on, desperate to play the same games as Maxwell and his rotten crowd.

"But that's your goddamn problem, Wiley," Maxwell said, wheeling about and thumping his friend's chest. "You probably promised this girl jewels."

"Maybe," Wiley retorted.

"And fancy new dresses."

"Okay, but –"

"And, probably, you said you'd take her to parties, and teas, and all kinds of other shit, just to fuck her, didn't you?" The sneer in Maxwell's voice made Hans's lip curl.

"So what if I did? It was lip service, man." Hans could picture vividly Wiley backtracking hurriedly, desperate to save face against the onslaught. "That bitch isn't getting a half-crown off of me, Max. I just wanted to fuck her so I made up some shit she'd believe."

Adolphus cringed as Maxwell punched Wiley in the chest far harder than a friendly nudge.

"You fucking dumbass," Maxwell said, laughing cruelly. "Now if you don't keep those fucking promises of yours she'll run all over court and tell everyone who cares to listed what a goddamn _gentleman_ you are."

"So what? It's my word against hers, who the fuck is gonna –"

"It doesn't matter if a single goddamn person _believes_ her, fuckhead. The point is, all over court people will be talking _about_ you, talking shit. Who knows if it's true or not? Does it matter? Of course not. Nobody knows anymore whether or not they can trust your word. All your social capital bankrupt because of one bitch who ran her mouth off."

Exasperated, Wiley said, "Well how the fuck would you get some girl to sleep with you without promising her stuff, Max?"

"I can show you." Hans found that there was a small partition in the curtains through which to peer at his brothers and Wiley. "Admiral James, you know, that general who's always trying to kiss ass to my father, happens to have a daughter I wouldn't mind giving a few lessons in high society."

The raucous laughter sounded to Hans as if it were separated by a veil of water. _Mallory. Maxwell was talking about Mallory._

"And listen, Wiley. I'm not gonna be a fucking fool and tell her that give her diamonds and shit. No, man, _power_ , the kind that we've got, is an aphrodisiac. If I just give the time of day to a girl like that she'll be begging to fuck me in minutes, just you watch."

Hans didn't really hear what Wiley responded to Maxwell over the pounding in his ears. He was furious at his eldest brother for any number of reasons, but above all the outrage was fear. What if Mallory really would sleep with him? Everyone else seemed to prefer Maxwell better anyway. Fury and fear overpowered the prince's sense of reason and he threw caution to the wind.

"Stop talking about her like that," Hans said, voice quivering with anger as he stepped from behind the arras, hands curled into white-knuckled fists.

Maxwell and his cronies turned to face Hans, surprised at his sudden materialization.

"What do you care, fucking bitch?" Maxwell crossed his arms across his broad chest, using his preferred title for his youngest step-brother. "Your limp little dick jealous that no one ever begs to suck it?"

Hans couldn't see anything as a sudden, overwhelming surge of adrenaline caused him to lunge at Maxwell and punch him in the face. Hans swung so hard that he felt his knuckles break against his eldest brother's cheekbone, right below the eye. Maxwell stumbled back into the arms of Wiley and Adolphus, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

In a flash Wiley rushed Hans and threw him up against the stone wall, punching the prince in the gut as fast as his flying arms would allow. Adolphus swore, looking morosely from Maxwell to Hans.

"Why the _hell_ did you do that, Hans?"

"Get your fucking ass over here and hold him down, Adolph!" Wiley screamed, a wild frenzy in his eyes.

Hans couldn't breathe, could barely see over his pain and his pounding rage. He realized just how friendless he really was as Adolphus shook his head sadly and strode over to the wall, pinning Hans's limbs to it as Wiley stepped back.

"Adolph, don't do this," Hans gasped, feeling something horrible in his stomach where it had been pounded. "You know Max is a dick, you-"

Adolphus simply shook his head as Wiley savagely punched Hans's jaw. The prince's head snapped back against the stone of the wall and lolled for a moment, dazed. He could feel blood running down his chin and realized that he must have bitten his tongue. He hoped that he hadn't lost a tooth.

"You," Wiley said, punctuating each of his next words with another punch to the gut, "are, a, worthless, fucking, piece, of, shit, you, goddamn, little, bitch."

Hans was coughing violently now, sputtering blood onto the floor. He could hear Maxwell getting up and knew that he was really in for it.

"Wiley. Adolph. Spread his legs open for me and lay him down." Max rubbed at his temple, a rapidly swelling bruise along his left eye.

They did as they were told, forcing Hans to the ground, which didn't take much effort given his condition, and pulling his legs apart with the same ease. Maxwell rapidly crossed the distance between them and stomped on Hans's groin as hard as he could manage. Hans saw stars and couldn't put into lucid thought the pain he was in. From there Maxwell stomped on one of Hans's shins, breaking the bones with an audible crunch.

"Just because your whore of a mother can fuck dad into thinking she's a part of the family doesn't mean she can pull the same fucking shit over us," Maxwell said savagely, spitting down onto Hans's face. "You will never be a part of our family."

And the three left Hans there on the floor, only Adolphus casting a haphazard glance over his shoulder as they retreated, and only once.

xxx

Hans was in hell. He couldn't stand, and his voice was too hoarse to shout. It was probably twenty minutes before someone else came down that hallway and found him lying there, savagely beaten and bleeding.

"Hans!" Came a sudden, terrified shriek.

Hans heard footsteps pounding down the hallway and Mallory fell to her knees beside him, pulling the prince's head into her lap. Tears were already stinging at her face as she explained how she had found him.

"Daddy wondered why you weren't at assembly," she said as she brushed some hair out of his face. "He sent me to look for you – oh god, Hans what happened?"

Hans felt a burning shame as he considered what to tell her. _I got beaten because I tried to defend your purity. I'm not even man enough to protect you from my own goddamn brother._ Hans reached up with a shaking hand and brushed the side of Mallory's face. It was so soft.

The prince couldn't think of anything to tell her, any lie that would make things better. So he didn't say anything at all.

xxx

Hans took a deep breath, still calming his nerves over the incident seven years later. He stood leaning against a tree set in a roadside copse. The former prince was waiting for a carriage, left alone in the meantime to only his thoughts. He turned to look at the road, checking to make sure that the tree that lay fallen in the road was still there, as if at some point during the last hour it would have gotten up and walked away.

This time, however, was different than all of the previous times Hans had looked at the road; this time the carriage he was searching for was on the horizon and rapidly approaching.

Hades had sent the former prince to earth this time because one of his informants had given him a tip-off that some of Everdark's cultists were headed to Corona for something very important. The informant had accomplished the painstaking and treacherous task of infiltrating the cult and would be traveling with them. Thus Hades had positioned Hans on this road, at three o'clock in the afternoon, to stop them just as they came along it.

Only one man on that carriage knew why they were going to Corona, and it wasn't the informant. Hans had been ordered to kill them all, but only after forcing the information he needed out of the leader. Of course, he had protested. There was no reason the informant had to die, but Hades had insisted that, should the cult find the remains of this carriage without the correct number of bodies, their entire operation would be compromised. Everdark's followers would immediately realize that Hades had sown operatives within their ranks, and defeating them would be harder than ever.

The informant would die, for the greater good. Hans would never know which one it was, such that the murder wouldn't weigh on his conscience. And of course the informant had not been told what was coming. For the greater good.

The carriage was approaching, the horses braying and slowing to a halt as they saw the tree trunk obstructing their path. Hans took a deep breath and slid two pistols from their hip holsters.

Hidden around the side of the tree nearest the road, the former prince heard the driver dismount, and call back to the cab. "Oi! There's a tree in the road! Must've been knocked down in a storm or something."

Swearing at him, Hans heard another man exit the carriage. "There hasn't _been_ a storm recently, you fool."

Showtime.

At that moment Hans stepped around the tree, leveled a pistol at the driver's head, and shot him. Immediately the road exploded into movement. The pair of horses panicked and reared, kicking wildly in the air as the other man who had exited the carriage dove for the door. Hans reset the hammer on his right pistol as he swung the left around and shot at the nearest horse.

He hadn't expected much accuracy with his left hand, and he didn't get it; the nearest horse was struck in its neck rather than a leg and was killed rather than just injured. The effect was the same; the remaining horse whipped and kicked but was unable to drag the carriage away. Hans fired the rest of his cylinders at the carriage and pinned the scrambling man against it with gunfire. He slumped to the ground as the former prince charged the immobile carriage, casting aside his pistols and drawing a saber.

As Hans came within an arm's length of the carriage another man threw open the door, holding a pistol of his own. The former prince lunged and flicked his wrist, severing the man's hand even as it gripped the firearm. Both went tumbling through the air as Hans closed the rest of the distance between them and ran his sword through the man's chest. Hans barely heard the screams as he withdrew his blade and let the body fall out of the carriage to the ground.

The former prince grabbed the loosely swinging door and stepped onto the threshold of the carriage to see three terrified-looking men sitting inside. One of them wore the same cowl as Anderson Voight had, so Hans figured he must be the leader.

"Who the hell are you?" The man shouted with none of the same cool resolve that Voight had worn like a second mantle.

"Your worst nightmare," Hans said mercilessly as, without so much as a glance at him, Hans traced a bloody 'x' on the chest of one of the men.

He whirled to the last man and saw pure terror in his eyes, the kind of blind fear that spoke betrayal. This was the informant, Hans knew; this man with arms thrown in front of his face was the very reason that Hades had known where Hans would have to be, and at what time. And he had expired his usefulness.

Hans slashed him sidelong across the throat, this time hearing clearly the man's horrendous scream of pain before turning to face their leader. He grabbed the man by the collar and turned, casting him out of the carriage, where he landed roughly in the dust. Hans hopped down and strode towards him, trialing the reddened edge of his sword along the ground beside him.

"Listen very closely to me," Hans said, "and I just might let you live."

The leader of these cultists turned on the ground to face Hans, fear inscribed on his face like a tattoo. "What do you want?"

Hans considered the man for a moment, wandering around the side of the man and returning his sword to its scabbard. The leader was trying to edge himself closer to one of the pistols that Hans had discarded, and to preempt the action Hans stepped on the leader's outstretched hand. After allowing him to howl for a moment Hans knelt, retrieving his gun and spinning it around on one of his fingers.

"Ah. Wouldn't want you to end up with that, now would we?" The former prince leaned close to the leader's face. "What's your name, man?"

The leader gazed upon Hans with terror for several moments before sputtering, "Wilfred Gallander."

"Wilfred, eh?" Hans rubbed at his chin as he stared down at the cultist. "Mind telling me what you and your friend were up to, Wilfred? My boss would really like to know."

Wilfred spat at Hans. "I would rather die than compromise my mission."

"Really?" Hans frowned as he lowered the pistol to Gallander's head, positioning it directly between the man's eyes. "Because the fear in your face right now tells me that you're lying about that."

"You wouldn't," Gallander said, eyes crossing in an attempt to keep the muzzle of the pistol in sight. "That information is the only reason you attacked my carriage. Without it you have nothing to take back to your goddamn boss."

Hans kept his face perfectly neutral, upset that the man was right. "Are you willing to take that chance?"

There was a painfully long moment in which the only noise was Gallander's heavy breathing and his squirming to try and get out from the pistol, to no avail. Finally the leader of the cultists gasped and swore.

"We were headed to Corona, goddammit!"

"I knew that," Hans said. "Who are you reporting to there?"

To Hans's pleasure, he saw Gallander's pupils dilate. "I have no idea who, or what, I receive my orders from. What I do know is that we were headed to Corona to participate in the initiation of King Frederick!"

They were congregating to welcome the King of Corona to the fold. Hans could see in Gallander's face that the man was telling the truth, or at least he didn't realize that he was lying. Not for the first time, Hans wondered exactly how far Everdark's reach could stretch.

He looked directly into Gallander's eyes for several more seconds, and then he moved the pistol away from the man's head. "Thank you for your cooperation, Wilfred."

The man gasped and the tension melted out of him as the gun pointed away, starting to say something that Hans didn't bother to let him finish.

"Of course, I can't let you live." As quickly as he had taken it away, Hans returned his pistol to the man's forehead and shot him right between the eyes.


	15. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

 _It's hard to enjoy the holidays when a god is trying to kill you._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Saint Adelaide Cathedral,

Arendelle

December 25th, 1842

Elsa tried not to think about how much she'd rather be sitting in the palace, enjoying the holiday with Anna. There would be time for that later.

Elsa sat in the closest pew to the altar on the left side of the aisle, joined by Anna, Kristoff, Montaigne, and a few others deemed important enough. The queen wore an azure pea coat and a charcoal skirt to go with the royal tiara; they had been made for her by an up-and-coming Arendane designer that had been recommended to her by Novare. The pew behind her was occupied by a small security detail; though there hadn't been any outward attempts on the queen's life since the attack at the mortuary, her advisors still insisted that caution was necessary in the utmost.

Bishop Clement approached the altar as the church's bells began to toll, and the hall of penitents waited with bated anticipation. Elsa considered her surroundings. She hadn't been to a church service since her childhood imprisonment, and hadn't been inside of a place of faith since the coronation. She didn't really know what to expect.

"Merry Christmas." Clement's cheeks were rosy with what Elsa presumed was joy for the season. "Welcome, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, to our shared place of faith. I hope that you are all enjoying the season of our savior's birth. I am very pleased to announce that, as you no doubt have noticed, we are joined today in our Christmas sermon by none other than our beloved Queen Elsa."

Elsa nodded her head respectfully as the penitents applauded. All of the attention made her uncomfortable with this charade; she felt that under the scrutinizing gaze of the pious her veneer of faith would be laid bare like fool's gold. And yet for the moment, none seemed to question her.

Anna said something that Elsa didn't quite hear, so she turned to look at her sister as the Bishop began speaking again.

"What did you say?" Elsa whispered.

"I said that it's real unfortunate that Namar has the flu," Anna whispered back.

"Why is that?" At the risk of looking rude, Elsa chanced a quick glance over her shoulder and saw that the rest of her advisors stood in the row behind her. Novare gave her a smile and a little wave, and Elsa discreetly returned it.

Anna looked confused for a moment. "Because he's so pious, y'know? He never misses church if he can help it. Especially Bishop Clement's services, he loves Bishop Clement."

Montaigne sniffed his disdain for the notion. Elsa smiled inadvertently, but as it faded she again chided herself on just how little she actually knew about her counselors.

"Matter of fact, he's the only one of your advisors who prefers services here to the ones offered inside the castle," Anna finished before returning her gaze to the bishop.

"- and as we spend these last days of the year in reflection, I encourage each of you to remember the sacrifice of our savior. Christ was many things, but most forget that he was a man with simple beginnings. He was the son of a carpenter and lived a humble existence in our world. He was rich, not in coin but in love; he was noble, not in lineage but in spirit.

"We spend so long thinking of Christ as our perfect Messiah, and perhaps not enough considering what we can learn from him. Christ won his flock not with the powers of a god, but with the compassion, love, and humility that each of us can strive to possess. The very man that associated with outlaws and would eventually be crucified as a criminal in his sovereign land strives to teach us that sin is redeemable. The meanest, basest villain may see redemption if they earn it. None of us are so far lost that it is not always right to do what is right.

"I spent many years in my youth as a prison chaplain, offering solace to men and women who had sinned penultimately. During that time I conversed with hundreds, if not thousands of souls considered 'damned' by the state. These were great sinners, to be sure; thieves and murderers and traitors. But on the whole, they were not 'bad' people. By opening my heart and my spirit to these people I came to realize that there is no such thing as a truly bad person.

"It is not the human that sins, it is the action. Sin does not give me a name, nor does it offer one to you. The shining beacon of redemption can burn bright enough to cast away the shadows of sin, and the path of redemption is available to all who are righteous enough to seek it. When our souls come to their immortal rest we are judged not by our darkest moments, but by our finest hour."

The bishop bowed his head and the word 'amen' rippled through the pews like a swelling tide. In that moment Elsa thought suddenly of Hans, unbidden and unexpected. He was a scoundrel, a schemer, and an attempted murderer. And yet Anna had been completely convinced that he was a good man. As naïve as Anna could often be, one thing Elsa had never known her younger sister to be was a poor judge of character.

Was it possible that Hans was more complex than his actions would indicate? Was he a better man than the Queen of Arendelle presumed? With a jolt, Elsa realized that there was no way to know. After all, only a few months ago he had been sentenced to execution by the Southern Isles on the charge of high treason. In the end the former prince had committed suicide rather than be executed a traitor, but the end result was the same.

Elsa wondered if there was good in him after all.

xxx

Later that day found Elsa and her sister sitting in a cozy den adjoining the Royal Wing of the palace; both of the young ladies could access the room from their quarters, and as such it was an ideal place to decorate the hearth with the trimmings of the season. It had been an altogether wonderful holiday, but there was one more important matter to tend to.

The Queen of Arendelle knelt beside the Christmas tree, retrieving a small, colorfully wrapped gift and returning to the sofa upon which Kristoff sat with Anna nestled into his side. Elsa presented the gift to the both of them, smiling broadly. She winked at Kristoff, who seemed to gulp in response.

"I got this for both of you, and I really think that you'll enjoy it," Elsa said, barely containing her excitement.

"Oh, thank you, Elsa," Anna said greedily as she stripped the box of its colorful paper. "I wonder what it could be?"

Kristoff removed his arm from around Anna and rubbed his hands together, taking a deep breath as the redhead removed the lid from the box, positively gasping when she saw what was inside.

"I, uh, I lied about having _gotten_ something for you," Elsa said with a giggle on her lips. "Really, I _made_ you both something. Kristoff?"

Kristoff's face was very white and he stammered a bit as he reached around Anna to remove a gorgeous, fine ring of ice from the box.

"A-a-anna, I have a very important question to ask you." Kristoff now slid off of the sofa and knelt before a princess whose eyes were suddenly spilling over with tears, running her mascara down blushing cheeks.

"Will you marry me?"

" _Yes!"_ Kristoff was nearly thrown to the ground by the force of the redhead as Anna cast her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder.

Elsa smiled and wiped away a tear of her own, her throat feeling suddenly very constricted. As Anna pulled away from Kristoff far enough to kiss him, Elsa felt a sudden, infinitesimal pang of loneliness. It was gone as soon as it had come, but the queen definitely felt its effects.

Kristoff laughed with pure elation as he slid the ring onto Anna's third finger, saying, "In November I asked Elsa for her blessing, and she insisted that she do me one better. So she made us a pair of rings."

"They're beautiful!" Anna's face was rosy and she wiped furiously at the streaks of black down her cheeks.

The rings were indeed spectacular; the thin bands of crystalline ice laced together on themselves several times. They glittered with fractal rainbows as the light of the hearth shone on them, and Anna's was set with a substantial diamond.

"That diamond," Elsa chimed in, "Kristoff bought it all himself. So don't let him get out of this scot-free."

Anna whirled to Kristoff and kissed him again, and they fell to laughing and the sort of romantic babbling that Elsa so adored out of the pair. She smiled wryly and stood, affecting a mask of confusion.

"You know what, you two? I think I might have left my shawl downstairs earlier, why don't I go try to find it?" She certainly had left her shawl downstairs, very deliberately. No sort of cover was necessary, however; the betrothed spared her not so much as a second glance as she quietly let herself out of the room.

xxx

Elsa descended the grand staircase a few minutes later, looking about for the shawl that she had deliberately left hanging from one of the bottom posts. _It's about time,_ Elsa thought to herself with a smile. She was fairly certain that Kristoff would have proposed years earlier, but she suspected that it was fear of the queen's possible disapproval that had kept him so long. Not that Elsa would have thought ill of it, however. Kristoff was the right man for Anna, even if he was a tad simple.

Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, Elsa saw that her shawl was gone. _A servant must have taken it,_ the queen mused as she twirled the end of her braid about a finger, wondering how else she would occupy her time for what felt like an appropriate amount. Just as Elsa wondered this she saw Novare step into the foyer from an adjoining chamber, the very shawl Elsa was looking for hanging around her shoulders.

It was becoming on her, actually; the snowy white cloak had a ruffle of fur about the neck that gave Novare a puffed-up, royal look. Her hair was worn down today in shiny, loose curls and in all she looked less academic than Elsa had ever seen her. The young woman swept into the room dramatically, holding herself royally as she cast her gaze about with disdain.

Elsa laughed aloud. "Been playing the queen, have we?" She laughed again as Novare screamed.

"Oh my god! Elsa!" Novare hurriedly pulled the shawl off, hurrying across the room and pushing it into the queen's arms, blushing furiously. "I saw this just hanging on the post there, and I wanted to return it to you, but after looking all over, well… it looked real nice…"

Novare trailed into a blazingly red silence.

Elsa laughed again and picked it out of Novare's arms, shaking the cloak out and sweeping around the young woman.

"Don't be embarrassed, Odette," the queen said as she motioned for Novare to raise her arms. She delicately slipped the shawl back onto Novare before gathering the young woman's hair and adjusting it so that it lay over the cloak. "I think that it actually suits you quite well."

Novare's color had not improved as she stammered, "Y-you think so?"

The young woman admired her own arms, delicately touching the soft fabric.

"I do," Elsa said. "Now come on. I was just looking for someone to talk to."

She hooked an arm through Novare's and began to lead the way, heading to father's study.

"You probably haven't been inside my father's study yet, have you?" Elsa smiled as she saw the excitement in the girl's eyes. It took a special person to get excited at the prospect of seeing a collection of dusty old books.

"No," Novare breathed. "But I've heard all about it! Montaigne told me that you have all sorts of old books, really rare ones, too."

Elsa smiled and opened the door, stepping inside with her young servant. It was dark, of course; Elsa left Novare in the doorway as she bustled about the sides of the room, lighting candlesticks. Once they were lit, she returned to the door and closed it, ushering Novare over the threshold.

"Come on, take a look around, silly," Elsa laughed, practically pulling Novare over to the first bookshelf.

Once she was there, Novare voraciously fell to gazing upon the various covers, gasping and exclaiming as she saw them.

"A first-edition printing of _The Leviathan!_ Oh! Is this one of Shakespeare's folios? I've always wanted to see a real one!" She began to delicately touch some of the spines, handling them with the care that one would a small child.

Elsa smiled. She felt a strange blossoming in her chest as she gazed upon the young woman.

Sometime later the young women stood upon the balcony, gazing out upon the lazy snowfall that cast Arendelle in an enchanting light. It was a beautiful Christmas.

They had whiled away an hour or more, talking about everything from Novare's studies at university to Agnarr, Iduna, and some personal things about Elsa's imprisonment that she normally didn't share with people that weren't Montaigne or Anna. The queen felt explicitly safe with Novare, and as time passed their talking whiled away into a comfortable silence.

"I don't have very many friends," Elsa said abruptly. "So I'm really glad to call you one."

Novare turned and smiled at the queen, her nose rosy from the chill. "I'm really happy to call you a friend too, Elsa."

Elsa tore her gaze from the other woman's eyes and turned towards the town stretched out below, smiling again as some of the tension dissipated. After a moment or two Novare stepped into the queen's side and Elsa slid an arm about her. It was the kind of thing that didn't seem to require thought on either's part; it happened as naturally as a sunset. With Novare resting against her, Elsa realized that Novare was shivering.

"Oh my god, you're freezing!" Elsa said, gasping. "I'm so sorry, I forget how cold it is!"

Elsa broke away from Novare, embarrassment coloring her cheeks and making her feel stupid.

"Oh, no, I'm not freezing," Novare laughed as Elsa opened the doors again and they stepped back inside. "It was, uh, a little chilly."

Elsa felt some of her embarrassment melt and smiled as she straightened the edge of her shawl on the girl. "I stand corrected. You're a little chilly."

She gazed down into the shorter girl's eyes and her breath caught. Novare's arms were suddenly around Elsa's neck and they were leaning towards each other; Novare closed her eyes and parted her mouth and then their lips brushed, slightly –

"Oh, _there you are,_ " Anna said, pushing the door open and stepping into the study, leading Kristoff by the hand. "We were wondering what you would think of a spring –"

Elsa and Novare both started violently, stepping away from each other and blushing. Anna stopped with one hand on the knob, her and Kristoff suddenly painfully aware that they had interrupted something. Elsa couldn't think of anything that she could say that would make the situation less awkward. Several seconds passed while they all stared at one another.

"Miss Gerda told me that while she was doing her nighttime sweeping she saw that the lights to your study were on, so I took the liberty of preparing you some –"

Montaigne was backing into the room through the servant's door, carrying a tray of tea and coffee cake. He stopped when he saw the four staring at each other. Anna removed her hand from the doorknob.

"I can see that I'm just in time," Montaigne said drily.

"Actually, yeah, you are, Montaigne," Anna said in a voice far higher than normal. "We, uh, Kristoff, and I, uh, wanted to tell you some fantastic news! Why don't we do that somewhere else?"

Montaigne picked up the cue. "Ahem. Well, I'll just leave this here," he said as he left the tea tray on the queen's desk and stepped across the room to the betrothed couple. "Now I think I can probably guess based on the rings the both of you are wearing, and let me tell you that I am delighted…"

And his voice trailed off as he walked away.

Elsa turned to look at Novare once they were gone and opened her mouth to speak, but the brunette girl moved first. She stepped up to the queen and Elsa closed her eyes and parted her lips –

\- and Novare kissed her cheek, delicately.

"Thanks, Elsa. For a fun night." She smiled and gave the queen a nervous little wave before sweeping from the room. Elsa wanted to say something in response but couldn't think of anything, so instead she just reached up and brushed her fingers against the place those lips had touched just moments before.

xxx

In Corona, Christmas night had not yet ended. There was a secret chamber in the castle that few knew about, a hidden place where the specters danced. A pallid, waxy man with a halo of gold stood at the center of the specters as they flowed about him. The gwyllions danced to a solemn dirge, a chant of evil and ancient origin. A man donned the guise of a vulture and stood apart from the specters and the chanting continued. A creeping darkness began to permeate the chamber, a darkness more complete and pure than anything the king knew.

The vulture produced a ceremonial knife from within its robes and the dancing grew feverish; the vulture approached the king and the walls began to whisper. The darkness began to flow inside of the vulture and the light seemed to melt away as if there was none left in the world. The pallid man's eyes rolled about the room and his body convulsed but the gwyllions secured him, and the blade flashed. There was a single cry, and the wine of human flesh began to seep from the man's arms, captured in a saucer of pure gold. The specters resumed their hellish dancing.

The vulture raised the goblet to its beak and tipped it back, spilling the red liquid into its mouth and across the feathers of its neck. The walls screamed with dark ecstasy. The goblet was passed about the gwyllions as the king stood, dazed and bleeding. After all the mouths were wet with blood, the chanting reached a needlepoint crescendo and fell silent, lingering sharply in the air. The only noise was the drip of the king's blood onto the floor and the whispering of the shadow in the room.

The vulture stepped again towards the king and delicately reached for his crown. The king looked as if he would protest, but he did not. The vulture took the crown from the king and lowered it onto its own, twisted head. The king's face was a mask of torment and of pleasure. His eyes were darkness. His soul was night. His blood was taken.

He was lost.


	16. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note/Warning:

This chapter contains a scene more graphic, in terms of violence and sexuality, than anything yet in this fanfic. If you feel that such a scene would make you uncomfortable, skip to the second scene and pick things up there. You won't lose much in terms of continuity, but there is some character development in there.

xxx

Chapter Fourteen

 _It was called the Book of Graes Del, and it promised great power in return for total allegiance. The wizard was only too happy to oblige._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Olympia's Wharf,

The Southern Isles

May 8th, 1835

Hans was really looking forward to seeing Mallory after everything that had happened this week. His leg, as it turned out, hadn't really been broken, although it had certainly felt that way when Maxwell had beaten him. The doctor had put him in a splint, but his leg was sturdy enough to bear weight during normal walking. The bruises were also starting to heal, and altogether Hans was bouncing back. Like he always did.

Just the same, the prince was glad that today was just for him and his beautiful girl. They planned to take a sailboat out into the ocean until Olympia was merely a streak of ugliness on the horizon, whiling the hours away dreaming of running away together. If Hans wasn't a coward, he would ask her to marry him today. If he wasn't a coward, he would have brought all the gold he could stuff his pockets with and they would make good on those escape plans.

But he couldn't. Mallory loved her father and she loved the country, too. And Hans could never leave mother behind with his monsters of half-brothers. So it was a day trip and nothing more.

Hans reached the wharf and dismounted, snapping his fingers to get the attention of a nearby street urchin.

"Hallo, young man! Come over here a minute!" Hans tried to project a nonthreatening personage; often street waifs and the like ran from anyone who looked blue in the least.

"What's the matter, Lord Prince?" The boy was perhaps ten, with sandy hair and clear eyes.

"Do you see this horse? Isn't he magnificent? You can rub his nose if you like; he enjoys it."

Sitron whinnied as the boy rubbed his nose, and the boy laughed. "It's a real nice horse, Lord Prince."

"I'm glad that you like him. Here's a half-crown," Hans said, the boy's eyes widening as he saw a more valuable coin that he would normally see in a month. "It's all yours if you take Sitron to the stable two streets over. You see, I won't be able to take him with me on the boat I'm about to get on."

"Gee, thanks, Lord Prince!" The boy took the coin delicately from Hans, adding in a rush, "I'll make sure to take real good care of him!"

"I'm sure you will," Hans said with a chuckle as the boy took Sitron's reins and trotted away.

Hans turned to the wharf and frowned. He didn't see Mallory anywhere; but then again, she was always a little late. He started to walk down the pier, a bit unsteady on his splinted leg; his roaming gaze stilled when he saw Adolphus standing near the edge of the pier, looking ashen.

"What the hell are you here for?" Ever since the incident with Maxwell, Hans had done his best to avoid any of his brothers, especially Adolphus.

The sandy-haired stepbrother had tried to apologize to Hans for his inaction on that day several times, but they fell on deaf ears. Hans was done hearing about how Adolphus was sorry, and how really, Hans was the one looking for trouble in the first place.

Adolphus turned to face his younger brother and noticeably swallowed. "Hans, man, I'm really sorry, I tried to talk him out of it, but…"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hans felt a sudden hollow feeling in his stomach as he sensed that this was somehow connected to Mallory's absence.

"Max. He was pissed at you, after the other day, y'know? And he wanted to get with Admiral James's daughter anyway, and, well, after what happened I told him that you and Mallory were… together, and –"

Hans interrupted Adolphus with a surge of anger, grabbing his brother by the collar and shoving him up against the side of a shipping container, shouting into the young man's face.

"What the fuck did he do to her?"

"He told me that he was going to make you pay! I don't know!" Adolphus's eyes were wide with fear, and Hans realized that his must be, too.

"Where the fuck is he?" Hans screamed, drawing the attention of others on the dock, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was make Maxwell hurt. He was a coward and a waste of a fucking human life.

"There's a little bungalow, near the trees off of the boardwalk, that he takes all of his girls," Adolphus said frantically. "I think that he probably took her there!"

"You'd better fucking hope he did," Hans said as he punched Adolphus square in the nose. It crumpled and squirted blood across the boy's face and he collapsed to the pier, howling.

Without another glance at Adolphus, Hans turned and began to run in the direction of the bungalow, his splinted leg the last thing on his mind. He tore through crowds of citizens at the fish market, overturning a barrel of cod in his haste and being propelled ever-faster by the volleys of curses hurled after him. He reached the sand of the beach and the copse behind it and launched himself off of the boardwalk, sailing through the air before landing in a crunch on the ground three yards below.

His leg groaned in protest but he did not feel it; he didn't feel anything save pounding fury. Hans suddenly wished that he had worn his dueling saber as he rushed the little wooden shack, but in his rage he was certain that his fists would serve him well enough.

Hans reached the door to the bungalow in a sprint and threw his shoulder against it; it burst inward with a bang and the former prince came into a smoking room with Wiley and Jacobs, another of Max's friends. The two looked up from their acrid cigars as Hans flew in with complete shock.

"Where the fuck is Maxwell?" Hans shouted in a blood haze as the young men awkwardly began climbing from their seats.

Maxwell entered through another room, face a mask of annoyance that he had been intruded upon. He was refastening his belt and Hans could hear whimpering from the room he had left.

What happened next came easily.

Hans crossed the room faster than the men could stand, sliding across the coffee table and scattering its trimmings everywhere as he landed beside Wiley and Jacobs, still standing up. The prince threw a fist into Wiley's gut, fluidly twisting and clamping a hand around Jacob's arm to twist it into a half nelson. Jacobs swore as Hans stepped behind him and swung the young man around to intercept Wiley's punch. Even as Jacobs reeled from the blow Hans swept one leg around to send him to the floor.

Wiley kept swinging, and, stepping over the fallen man, Hans blocked three punches in quick succession before slamming a knee into Wiley's gut. Winded, he doubled back as the prince rammed his elbow into the back of neck, sending him too to the floor. Hans whirled to see that Maxwell had retrieved a fire poker from the sitting room's hearth and was quickly advancing on the prince.

"You're too fucking _late_ ," Maxwell said savagely as he swung the iron spear at Hans, who stepped back onto an armchair to avoid it. "She's already _used up_."

Hans stepped onto the back of the armchair, tipping it over between them both as Maxwell swung again. Hearing Maxwell say it didn't hurt Hans as much as he had thought it would, because to Hans, it made everything that was going to happen justified.

Maxwell came around the side of the armchair, laughing. "And you know what, Hans? Maybe I'm confused, but some of those screams sounded a bit like _more._ "

Maxwell ended his sentence by thrusting the fire poker right at Hans's heart. The prince caught it, his hand closing around the iron spear and staying it, an inch from his heart. Maxwell's grip was too loose, and instantly Hans was in control.

"I wonder if that's what your screams will sound like," Hans said as he twisted the fire poker out of Maxwell's hands and into his own. The other boy's eyes barely had time to widen.

Hans thrust the spear into Maxwell's stomach, eliciting a sharp inhalation of breath before Hans tore the poker from his brother's flesh and turned to catch one of Jacobs's fists across the haft. The prince ducked behind Jacobs and slashed him across the Achilles tendon. Jacobs stumbled forwards and Hans twisted sideways to stomp his head into the ground. He felt a whoosh of air and turned to see Wiley advancing on him, swinging a knife.

"You fucking bastard! I'll kill you!" Wiley spat, lunging towards the prince, but Hans was unbeatable in his fury.

He stepped aside from the blade and thrust the spit into Wiley's shoulder, feeling a satisfying crunch as the iron spear crushed the young man's shoulder blade. He yanked the fire poker from Wiley's arm only to stab him again, this time in the stomach. The frenzied man screamed and howled with pain, and in a wild rush he threw the knife.

Hans had anticipated this and ducked underneath the blade, abandoning the fire poker in the process. As the prince hit the floor he heard a thump behind him and turned as he stood, seeing Maxwell stumble back, clutching the knife sticking from his navel with both hands, gasping for breath. Hans returned his focus to Wiley and tore the spear out of him one last time. Wiley collapsed to the floor and Hans rammed the spear through the back of one of the young man's hands, filling the air with his screams.

As Maxwell collapsed, Hans noticed for the first time how much blood was on the floor. His eldest brother lay prostrate at Hans's feet, spluttering as he contributed to the growing stain of violence. Hans withdrew the spear from Wiley's hand; it unstopped a spigot of blood that contributed to the dark stain across the floor.

The prince crouched beside Maxwell and expected to feel a savage pleasure at seeing the boy broken beneath his hands. But he felt nothing. He gazed down at the fire poker and saw that its tip had broken off inside Wiley, a jagged edge now the topper to what was certainly still a lethal weapon. There was so much blood on it.

"You raped her." Hans didn't know why he said it; perhaps he was reminding himself of that fact.

Maxwell's eyes were horribly lucid but he seemed unable to speak as his hands soaked ever redder holding the knife.

Hans could kill him, so easily. He could kill him in more ways than he could count on one hand. He could do it, and it would be a fitting payback for Maxwell's crime. Hans stood up and raised the iron spear, touching it to the spot right between his eldest brother's eyes. They widened with fear and Maxwell moaned something that Hans didn't care to make out.

His heart was pounding. His grip tightened and he drew the fire poker back, his muscles flexing with anticipation.

And then Hans cast the iron spear aside.

"I'm not going to kill you," Hans spat. "Because you aren't worth that. Maybe you'll bleed out before anyone finds you."

Hans stepped across the room, entering the one in which Mallory lay. The prince could not have been prepared for what he saw.

Mallory was unconscious. The girl's clothes were torn and her flesh laid bare. She bore no less than ten welts and bruises across her body that were already beginning to turn a sickly purple, and the insides of her legs were slick with dark blood. One of her eyes was swollen and greenish. Hans felt bile rise in his throat and wondered whether he would kill Maxwell after all.

But what mattered now was getting Mallory medical attention. He rushed to her and delicately wrapped her in the bed's blanket before picking her up. She was light, and for some reason that frightened Hans even more, as if weight alone could convey some sense of vitality from the girl.

He returned through the smoking room, picking his way over Maxwell and his dying friends and stepping his way back into the sunlight. Fear paralyzed Hans as he hurried back to the stables, worrying that no matter how quickly he got to a doctor, he would be too late. His only solace was that Mallory was still breathing.

He repeated this fact to himself like a mantra, over and over, long after he found his horse; tears still carved salty streaks down his cheeks when he reached the hospital. Bursting through the doors, he screamed something at the staff and they began to move, but Hans heard nothing, heard nothing even as they delicately took the broken body from his arms.

xxx

Hans took a ragged breath and returned to his seat, wiping at his mouth and hoping that he hadn't shouted out in his outburst. He avoided Lady Blackheart's gaze, fearing that it would confirm his fears.

Almost eight years later, Hans said to Lady Blackheart, "Again."

The witch looked every bit as shaken as Hans. "Are you sure? Perhaps we ought to call that good for the night."

"Again. There is no 'calling it for the night.' I leave with the sunrise, Lady Blackheart."

When Hans had recovered the information about Corona over two weeks ago, he had been ready to depart immediately for the city-state. There was work to be done, lives to be saved. But Hades had stayed him the duration because he suspected that Hans would face far greater peril in Corona than he had in London.

"Look," Lady Blackheart said in a voice that sounded entirely unconvincing before it had even begun to speak, "Perhaps you won't encounter a telepath in Corona. Yes, it runs in bloodlines, but I lived hundreds of years ago; in the intermediate time, it may have been bred out of the family."

Frustrated that he had been failing to defend himself for two weeks now and trying not to take it out on the witch who was working every bit as tirelessly to prepare him, Hans sighed. "Everdark is still comparatively weak. It wouldn't risk all of its power trying to sway the ruler of a nation unless it had good reason to. Which is, most likely?"

Lady Blackheart sighed as well, but she bought into the former prince's argument. "King Frederick is probably a telepath, yes. Everdark is probably interested in trying to consolidate the kingdoms of humanity, and it's going to start with spellcasters first because they were the first to fall in antiquity."

"Which means," Hans said, "that we go again."

"I… just – all of the memories that you choose to use, Hans," Lady Blackheart said, "they all end up coming back to this girl. The happy ones, the sad ones, the furiously angry ones. And there are too many cracks in that mirror. Painful, horrible cracks, exactly the kind that your enemies will look to exploit when they try to get past your defenses. If they don't just kill you outright."

"I know," Hans said. "'It's hard to try and separate someone who was so much of my past from my thoughts like that. But I'm ready. I have a different plan. One more time."

"Alright." Lady Blackheart straightened her posture and closed her eyes. "Tell me when you are ready."

Hans closed his eyes and thought of Anna.

"I'm ready."

Hans felt that familiar, foreign presence that he had gotten to know so well by now slip into his mind. He focused on the Princess of Arendelle and he saw one thing: purity. The girl who he had only known for a week had nonetheless made a very powerful impression on him; she was impetuous and fiery, intensely caring and kind. It all came back to purity, a nobility of spirit that was untainted with years of infinitesimal cracks and flaws in the façade.

It was precisely that the former prince's vision of Anna was such a caricature that it worked so well. As he focused on the girl he capitalized on just how little he had known about her. He had never seen anything but her first impressions, and it was upon those first impressions that he was able to linger longer than he had ever before under Lady Blackheart's duress. There was nothing in his memory of Anna that was exploitable; nothing about the girl that he hadn't already come to terms with.

He could still tell that the witch was inside his mind, trying to work past his defenses, but he had not fallen to some horrible memory about Mallory like he had every other time Lady Blackheart had succeeded in invading him.

After what hardly felt like any time at all, Hans heard the witch's voice, distant as though his head was underwater. "Hans. Come back to me."

The former prince opened his eyes and he saw Lady Blackheart's hand extended across the table between them. A slight smile played at her lips and Hans could see pride in her gaze.

"Congratulations, Hans. I don't know who _that_ girl was, but she was the right choice. I couldn't get past your defenses."

Hans couldn't believe it. He laughed aloud and grasped Lady Blackheart's hand, shaking it vigorously. Suddenly confidence bloomed in his chest and he felt ready for anything the God of Darkness could throw at him.

"Obviously," Lady Blackheart said, her tone already back to its stiff, formal self, "you have a great deal more to learn about magic. My duties with you are far from over, but all the same I think that this is a fitting place to call things for the day. Good luck tomorrow, Hans."

The former prince's brain traveled back to the task at hand and he nodded grimly. "I'll make sure to give your family your finest."


	17. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

 _I haven't spoken to Odette outside of a professional context since Christmas, but it's not like I've had any time. With the salons each weekend at home and the looming specter of Everdark, I have precious little time left to sort out my emotions._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Royal Palace,

Arendelle

January 1st, 1843

"Happy New Year, miss," Montaigne said softly as he deposited the tea tray onto Agnarr's old desk.

"Thank you, Montaigne," Elsa said wearily. "You know, I think this might be the first time I've been awake through the night of New Year's Eve. Shame I spent it working."

Montaigne smiled a bit as he sat down, clasping his weathered hands on the table between them. "Try to remember, miss, that Arendelle's nobles are not objecting to your platform out of spite, or malice. They are simply old men, and old men's minds do not abandon that with which they are comfortable without groans of protest."

"Yes, well, Chauncey told me that they played 'Pin the Noose on Queen Elsa' at Redford's salon yesterday, so I might just go out on a limb and say that it _is_ me that they don't like."

The very night that Elsa had proposed 1843's platform, a member of the House of Lords had held a salon at his manor to express discontent over the queen's proposed reforms. Chauncey, a member of the Lords that Elsa kept in the capacity of an informant, had made sure to attend and relay to her the concerns. Since that initial salon, the discontent had spread like wildfire through the court, and as such it was not long before Chauncey had a new salon to attend each weekend.

At first the opposition had been voiced primarily from the House of Lords, but yesterday Neiman Redford, a longtime member of the House of Commons, had hosted the party. That had put a noose around her neck. Almost amusing, in an ugly sort of way.

"Yes, well. That is, of course, inexcusable." Montaigne shifted uncomfortably, and the queen could tell that he was still thinking of the attempt on her life.

Elsa was in the process of drafting an order that said much, and in essence accomplished very little. Aware that she needed to do something to placate her unruly nobility, Elsa planned to release an official statement on the matter. It was pandering in every sense of the word, filled with assurances that the sovereignty of the court was well-established and would not be infringed upon by any sorts of new laws.

It made her stomach turn to think of; these noblemen were throwing fits over an expansion of human rights. But then again, they would have an easy time making her life miserable if they were unhappy, so it was best to keep the court in hand. Trying to draft an order that would do so without making any real concessions of power had kept her burning the candle at both ends for some time now.

Suddenly, the door to the study was thrown open. Elsa and Montaigne turned with surprise as Kai and a terrified-looking young man rushed into the room, Kai casting an apologetic look at the queen.

"I'm terribly sorry your majesty, this young man claims to have –"

"The kingdom of Corona needs your help, Queen Elsa," the man said breathlessly, casting a letter onto Agnarr's oaken desk.

Montaigne raised his eyebrows as Elsa took the letter with interest. The queen furrowed her brow as she broke a hastily applied seal and removed the letter from within the envelope.

"What did you say that your name was, young man?" In truth, the man was probably a bit older than she was, but Elsa found that if she acted older than she was, people treated her that way.

"Castor," he said breathlessly. "They sent all of the royal messengers to a different kingdom, hoping that at least one would heed the call of duty. The kingdom is desperate, Queen Elsa."

Elsa scanned the hastily scribbled letter, little more than a few scant lines of text, writ with a frenzied hand that Elsa gathered must be Eugene's.

 _Please help_

 _Frederick has gone insane. Rapunzel swears he's been possessed by a dark spirit, but no one knows for sure what has come over him. He's going to imprison us all – even Rosaline. He speaks of executions, and I don't know how long we will have. Please, before it's too late._

Elsa looked up again and took in the full appearance of the young messenger. He was scared, and worn to exhaustion from his journey. This was serious.

"When did you leave for Arendelle, Castor?"

"Five days ago, Queen Elsa. I know not what more has happened during that time but I can only hope that my Queen and my Princess are still alive."

"What happened?" Elsa now stood from behind the desk and began to walk from the room, and the others fell into step along with her. She was headed to Anna's room; the girl deserved to know anything that had befallen their cousin as well.

"The day after Christmas, King Frederick took on a strange madness," Castor said, trotting alongside the queen. "Seemingly overcome by paranoid delusions, he declared martial law and began arresting the members of his court. Princess Rapunzel and Queen Arianna tried to bring him to sense, but it was like he didn't even recognize them. The King ordered his guard to imprison them, along with Princess Rapunzel's consort and their young child.

"Just before they were taken away, Eugene Fitzherbert summoned all of the royal messengers and sent one of us to each and every kingdom that Corona calls a friend, entreating them for help. The situation is very grave, Queen Elsa; if King Frederick's talk of executions come to fruition, I do not know how long the royal family may have."

They had reached Anna's chambers in the time Castor had given his frantic exposition, and Elsa stopped for a moment with her hand an inch from the door, processing everything that Castor had just said and already formulating a plan.

She knew full well what 'madness' suddenly dominated King Frederick, but that didn't mean she knew what to do about it. It seemed that Everdark had given up on her for the moment, if only to re-concentrate its efforts on a weaker monarch.

Elsa knocked three times.

xxx

"Oh my God," Anna said, covering her mouth as Castor's story concluded for the second time. "Elsa what can we do? We've got to help, somehow!"

"I'm going to leave for Corona immediately," Elsa said, rushing forwards to cut off the protest that was already forming on her sister's lips. "And you are _not._ Before you try and argue with me, Anna, think about what Castor just told us. King Frederick sounds dangerously unstable, and people are probably going to die.

"You have no experience with any kind of weapon, and even if you did, you're too important to put into harm's way. Plus, I need someone to keep things running as smoothly as possible here when I'm gone."

"How can you expect me to stand by while you, and Rapunzel, and our Aunt, _and even Rapunzel's four year-old_ are all at risk?" Anna was angry, the kind of anger that came from fear and wasn't directed at anyone, really; it was mostly just a way for Anna to direct her emotions in a way that wasn't as terrifying.

"Because, Anna," Elsa said tersely, "If you came with me and you were killed, I'd lose all of the family that I've had since mom and dad died. Kristoff would lose the only human who's ever loved him. You might as well have killed all of the children you were going to be a mother to one day, as well. So yes, I can expect you to stand by."

Anna looked tremendously angry, but the queen knew that her fiery sister would burn out in a few hours and forgive her. Elsa hoped that she wouldn't have to leave Anna on poor terms, however.

"If you're worried about me, then think about what it would do to me if you were hurt, Elsa!" Anna's voice had raised quite a bit, and though she wasn't screaming, she might soon be. "Just send soldiers, then!"

Elsa had hoped that her sister wouldn't make that suggestion, because she didn't know how to deflect it. How to explain to Anna that this was her responsibility, to use her powers to banish Everdark once and for all. That sending soldiers to fight the weapon of a god was like sending lambs to the slaughter. That even Elsa didn't know what to expect sitting on Corona's throne.

But Anna saw something in her sister's eyes, and it was enough.

"What are you keeping from me?" The redhead was getting even angrier, now standing and jabbing a finger at her older sister. "You know something about this that I don't, and I'm sick of you keeping things from me! You _still_ haven't told me anything that happened in Bavaria, and now this!"

Montaigne cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked at Kai and Castor, clearly indicating that it would probably be best if they left. Elsa stood her ground, but she realized that Anna was right. This was too big to keep pushing away, and the only reason that she hadn't told Anna already was that she didn't know how to tell her something like this.

Glancing at the door as the others swept from the room, Elsa waited until the latch clicked before she took a deep breath. "Anna, you're going to think that this all sounds ridiculous, but I'm telling you everything that I believe to be true about the situation. Alright?"

Anna frowned suspiciously and sat on the edge of her bed, crossing her arms. "Alright. Tell me."

And Elsa did. She told the princess everything she knew about Everdark and the horrible danger that his return posed to them all. She told Anna about Wulfric Shaw in Bavaria and the Keepers of the Stele. She told Anna that she suspected that Everdark had taken King Frederick into the fold, and that if he had done so, Corona was far too dangerous to be entered lightly. When she concluded her tale, Anna sat quietly for several moments, staring at her sister.

"I don't want to believe you," she said quietly, "but I do. I know that you wouldn't tell me something like you just did unless you truly believed what you were saying, so I trust you."

Anna looked past Elsa now, her voice sounding hollow and frightened. "Just please, don't do anything reckless. Even more than I want to see Rapunzel alive and well, I want you to come home safe, okay?"

Elsa smiled and stepped towards her sister to gently brush a red strand from the girl's face. "Of course, Anna. I'll be back before you realize I'm gone."

xxx

Elsa left that very night for Corona, and she did so alone. Castor was left in Arendelle for his own safety, and soldiers would simply slow the queen down. She didn't think they would help in the fight against a god anyway. Besides, a small part of Elsa was eager to test her strength against a worthy foe. She'd never used her magic for anything but utility and self-defense before, and she was ready to flex her talents.

She had wanted to say goodbye to Novare, but the girl had been out on the town, and there was no time to wait.

As night fell she stood on a caravel headed to Corona; the journey to Arendelle's sister kingdom would last four days by ship and conclude with a hard ride to reach the capital in roughly five days. Elsa hoped that it wouldn't be too late. She placed a hand on Sitron's flank as she looked to the misty ocean.

The queen had brought the late prince Hans's horse with her for the flight to Corona; never had the royals from Arendelle seen a horse so strong and fast. Sitron had been gifted to Elsa and her sister by the Southern Isles after the incident three years ago, one of many redresses used to patch over the unpleasantness and forestall war between the kingdoms. Elsa often thought that the particular gift of Sitron had been a larger function of the unwillingness of the Southern Isles to waste valuable space upon their ship for the horse of a disgrace during their return voyage.

All the same, Elsa was glad to have him. She wore a traveler's cloak and a riding ensemble; her face was devoid of cosmetics and her hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She had seen herself in a mirror just before she left and barely recognized the person staring back at her, which was certainly the point. A pawn of Everdark looking to consolidate Corona would not take kindly to the arrival of a foreign monarch, but it was unlikely King Frederick would spare a second glance for the guise that Elsa wore.

The ship slowly began to slip through the water, and Elsa turned to glance back at the kingdom she was leaving behind. She kissed her first and middle fingers and raised them to the city's retreating spires, realizing viscerally that this might be the last time she saw them.

xxx

Five days later, a white horse and its rider crested a hillock just outside of Corona. They gazed down upon the city before them, the wind teasing at the edges of the girl's hood.

Elsa frowned down at the city, trying to discern any sort of change Everdark might already have affected upon it. There was an obvious guard at the gates where there had never been before, but aside from that it looked as if the queen could be headed to a simple visit. Nothing was burning, at least. Elsa adjusted her hood and spurred Sitron down the hill.

As her noble horse came within twenty or so yards of the gates, one of the guards hailed the queen as the others crossed their ceremonial halberds across the gate. She brought Sitron around before them and dismounted, wondering whether these men truly knew how much things had changed within the palace they guarded.

"State your business inside this city," the foremost of the guards, one with epaulets on his uniform, barked at her.

"I'm paying a visit to my cousin," Elsa said, which, to be fair, was entirely truthful.

As the guards glanced amongst themselves, Elsa wondered what orders they had been given regarding those they should deny entrance to the city. She would be willing to bet that she would be admitted to the city; if the city was on total crackdown, Elsa imagined things would look a lot less 'business as usual.'

"All right," the officer said, waving his men to clear the way for her. "You can pass."

As Elsa nodded politely to the men and swung herself back onto Sitron, the man continued. "But you should be warned, citizen, that there has been quite a bit of unrest in the city recently. We expect the king may declare martial law to put down the resistance soon, so prepare to leave before then."

Elsa spurred Sitron past the men, wondering whether there was any 'resistance,' or if King Frederick was gaslighting his people to justify the crackdown. She supposed that she would soon find out.

Upon entering Corona, the queen saw a far different city than the one she had last visited a few short months ago. Sitron's hooves sounded unnaturally loud against an empty street, save for a few waifs huddled in piles of blankets against the sides of the cobbles. No voices were to be heard anywhere, not even the barking of a dog.

The queen came upon a fountain square populated by two beggar women threshing clothes in the water. Wondering whether they would be able to tell her why the streets were so empty, Elsa adjusted the reins to call Sitron to a halt.

"Excuse me, but could you answer a question for me? Either of you?"

The women turned abruptly and stared at the newcomer suspiciously. One of the crones whispered something to the other, and that one spoke after a moment.

"Perhaps. What do you wish to know?"

"I'm not from around here," Elsa said simply. "Why are the streets so empty?"

Both of the crones began to cackle, and one waved a bony finger at the queen. "Well, I suppose it might be the executions, but then again, maybe there's some other reason the whole city's gathered at Gardiner Square!"

Elsa's blood felt just a bit colder. "Executions?"

Perhaps she was too late.

"Oh, yes, King Freddie's off his rocker, innhe?" The other woman continued to cackle even as she returned to her threshing. "He's lopping heads off, there ain't a noble in this city who's safe from him! Of course, Old Betty don't mind, I say it's good riddance to bad blood."

Elsa had heard all she needed to. She turned in the direction of Gardiner Square and kicked Sitron's flanks, spurring the horse into a gallop. The drumbeat of hooves on cobblestones steadied her mind as she sped towards death, wondering if there was anything to be done.


	18. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

 _The wizard devoted twenty years to study of the Book, and in its time he gained a dark and twisted power. He was particularly interested with the section of the Book that discussed 'tensing blades.'_

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Gardiner Square,

Corona

January 7th, 1843

Hans stood on the rooftop of a bakery at the periphery of the square, gazing down upon the thousands assembled for the executions. The crushing press of morbid curiosity surrounded the gallows that had been constructed in the center of the square, preternaturally quiet given its size. The hushed murmurs which ran like air currents through the crowd bespoke a soft reverence for the men slated to die.

Hans drew a pistol and began to examine its chambers as the time of execution grew near. Over time and each successive mission, Hans had come to favor a pair of swords and a pair of guns. The pistols were a pair of Colt revolvers, the cutting-edge American weapons that many in the Old World scoffed at as 'the firearms of a brute.' Hans had become quite the brute of late, so it was a fitting appellation. The former prince had been recalled to Corona just hours before, and without any sort of rational plan he had taken it upon himself to stop this execution.

The sound of carriage wheels in the distance drew his attention and he saw three horse-drawn carts approaching. They were packed with Corona's elite, their fine clothes dirtied and worn from two weeks' imprisonment. Hans could practically smell their fear as the crowd began to part and allow the carriages to enter the square. As they did, a priest and the executioner broke from the crowd and began to scale the stairs to the gallows.

The priest wore sable robes with a gold trim; the particular flair of the servants of Everdark was all too familiar to the former prince by now, though he wondered whether any of the crowd thought anything of them. The priest began to speak as the executioner opened the hatch to the first cart, ushering three men from within.

"Citizens of Corona," Everdark's servitor began in a booming, audible voice, "your liberation is at hand. The elites that have so long driven this nation to ruin will finally meet their reckoning! King Frederick the Great will punish their _insurrectionist_ attempt to take his power for their own enrichment and aggrandizement! And in doing so, he reclaims the right to use his power for the people."

In this time, the first three had been led onto the platform and they were beginning to be fitted with nooses. Hans heard sobbing from some in the crowd, but it was cloaked by the sharp noise of anticipation. He passed the pistol from his right hand to his left and flexed his empty fingers. The former prince hadn't expected them to hang three people at once, and it was a damn shame that he would only be able to save one of them. If he made any sort of disturbance now, he wouldn't be fast enough to stop them from hanging all three in response; he had only one window in which to act.

"Look not fearfully upon the hand of justice, brothers and sisters, for these streets that we run first with blood, will soon be paved with gold! After Corona is purged of the _cyst_ that is these elites, we will enter a new age of prosperity!" The priest turned to face the three men ready to be hanged, and continued to speak. "So that is why we will applaud the deaths of Heinrich Dorsche, Emile Renaud, and of course, Eugene Fitzherbert!"

Hans looked up with surprise and saw that the man closest to him upon the gallows was, in fact, the legendary Flynn Rider. The former prince had never, in his previous capacity as a statesman, met the royal consort to Princess Rapunzel, but he had seen the family's portrait during his visits to Corona as a young man. But Eugene looked broken. His head was hung and bruised, his body looked beaten and broken. Everdark had defeated him.

"Does the corrupt establishment have any last words before your treason against King Frederick is crushed?" The priest said directly to Eugene, his voice heavy with a sneer.

"This isn't about a balance of power," the royal consort said raggedly. "This is madness. King Frederick has gone insane! They're killing innocents!"

The priest chuckled and took a step back, off of the collapsing platform and turned again to the crowd. "Even when they stare death in the face, these elites are too corrupt to admit to their schemes! They will pay for their ignorance."

Hans passed the pistol back to his right hand and raised it. He had one shot to make this work. Time seemed to slow as the priest nodded to the executioner, who pulled the gallows lever. Many in the crowd began to scream as the platform underneath the men gave way. As they began to fall, Hans fired at the rope supporting Eugene's noose, a straighter shot than he had ever fired before, because it had to be perfect.

Hans's bullet split the rope.

As the men beside him were hung on the end of their lines, Eugene hit the ground below in an unceremonious tumble, grasping at the noose that now hung free about his neck. Chaos broke upon the square like a tsunami. Screaming citizens began to flee in every direction, trampling each other in their haste to get away from the unseen gunman. Hans chambered three more rounds and fired them directly into the sky, adding to chaotic frenzy.

The former prince slid down the angled roof of the bakery and placed one hand on the storm gutter, swinging himself through the air to land in the square proper. Guards had begun to flood into the crowd from every direction, frantically trying to discern the location of the shooter. As they searched, the former prince shouldered his way through the screaming citizens to the gallows. The priest and the executioner had fled as soon as the shooting started, so as Hans broke through the crowd it felt as if he and Eugene were alone in the eye of a storm.

Fear of the dead gave a wide berth to the gallows even amidst the chaos; none, it seemed, were willing to come too close to the hanged men that dangled slightly at the edge of their ropes. Hans strode across the distance quickly, making the futile attempt to pick any kind of noise out of the din that would indicate guards advancing upon him.

"Lady Luck smiles upon you today, Flynn Rider," Hans said as he extended a hand to the legendary outlaw.

"I am that man no longer," Eugene said as he clasped Hans's hand and stood, still looking amazed that he was alive.

"That's a damn shame," Hans said as he flipped the pistol about in his hand and shoved it into Eugene's. "Because we're going to need a second gun to make it out of here."

No sooner had be placed the gun into the royal consort's hands than he ducked around Hans and fired twice in quick succession. Hans turned about as he drew his second pistol, just in time to see two guards topple to the ground, dead.

"Perhaps there's still a bit of him left in there somewhere," Eugene said with a grimace.

At that moment, more guards burst through the mob on all sides of our heroes, at least a dozen of them. Their commander shouted something over the roar of the crowd and they leveled a dozen rifles at Eugene and Hans. The noise in the crowd suddenly softened enough that they could hear the commander's words.

"Surrender yourselves!" The commander shouted. "You're outgunned six to one!"

"Surrender and what?" Eugene shouted, laughing incredulously. "You'll execute me anyway? You have nothing to offer me, Randolph!"

The commander Randolph swore. "Do you fucking think that I want to be doing this? I'm just following orders, you goddamn fool! If you'd just have kept your fucking mouth shut like your wife –"

"I'm not going to stand by while my friends get executed by a madman," Eugene screamed. "If you order your men to fire, I'm taking you to hell with me!"

Eugene and Randolph stood facing each other, guns leveled directly at each other's hearts. The crowd was finally beginning to disperse as the chokepoints down side streets began to empty, leaving a square that echoed the screams of the trampled. Hans ran his gaze about the other men, realizing full well that he couldn't dodge eleven bullets. If they came to firing, he was as good as dead. Again.

Something teased the corner of his eye, and he turned to see a young woman standing alone some ten feet away from the men, a cloak drawn about her.

"Don't fucking make me do this, Eugene! If you don't go honorably, King Frederick will have your wife and Queen Arianna executed! Even Rosaline, goddamit!"

"Drop your weapon, Randolph." The young woman had spoken, causing everyone in the standoff to turn and face her. Her voice sounded oddly familiar.

"What? Who the hell are you?" Randolph said incredulously.

"Don't make me say it again." The woman widened her stance a bit, but she was completely unarmed. Hans felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"Ma'am, for your own safety, you need to leave," Randolph said. "Now."

The young woman flicked her wrist and shot a bolt of ice at Randolph. It hit the end of his rifle and crystallized around the front just as he fired. The end of his rifle exploded sent pieces of his arms flying everywhere, killing him instantly. The other guards stumbled away from the explosion and began to shoot at Elsa as one.

The bullets rained uselessly on shields of ice conjured effortlessly before them as she advanced on the men. The guards began to scream and run, and Elsa swept her hand as if it were a lash. Ice swept across the square and interred the men in an instant, encasing all but their heads in ice, leaving them shouting for mercy. As soon as it had begun, it was already over.

Hans slowly stood up, ears still ringing from the explosion, and turned to see Elsa walking across the square. She wrinkled her nose as she looked down upon the red spatter and mangled corpse that Randolph had become.

"That was unintentional," she said seriously. I didn't think he would have fired on me."

The Queen of Arendelle helped Eugene to his feet for the second time in less than ten minutes, and he pulled her into a hug.

"I knew you would come," he said breathlessly. "You saved my life."

Eugene turned and clapped Hans on the shoulder. "And you, as well. I am indebted to you both. I suppose that you must be from Arendelle, too?"

Elsa turned and frowned at Hans, and then suddenly her eyes widened. She took a step back and Hans immediately dropped his pistol, turning and raising his hands towards her.

"I promise that I'm a friend!" Hans shouted, magic at the edge of the queen's fingertips.

"Prince Hans," Elsa said with a mixture of wonderment and disgust. "You're alive."

"Not technically," Hans said, arms still raised high where Elsa could see them. "But that's a story for another time. Right now, I can promise to you that we're both fighting for the same cause. You're here to save your friends, and I'm here to stop King Frederick."

Elsa slowly lowered her hands and crossed her arms. "The two aren't mutually exclusive," the queen said warily. "What interest do you have in any of this? A penchant for seeing rulers overthrown?"

Hans probably deserved anything Elsa could throw at him, so he allowed her the remark. "We don't have time to stand here while I explain everything to the both of you, but there's a lot more at stake here than simple madness. King Frederick is being manipulated by a dark god called –"

"Everdark," Elsa finished, considering Hans with another layer of interest. Eugene looked between them both, confused.

"You're telling me that it isn't really Frederick making these choices?"

"Frederick is gone," Hans said, anticipating what Eugene might currently be considering. "Even if there were a way to reclaim his soul from Everdark, we'd die trying. The taking of prisoners is a luxury that we cannot afford."

Eugene gulped, but he nodded. "What should I do? How can I help?"

"Go free your wife and child. I'll draw as much attention as I can on the way to King Frederick; hopefully it'll create a large enough diversion for you to capitalize on."

"I'm going after him as well," Elsa said, looking uneasy at the thought of working with Hans, but just as desperate as he to see this put an end to. "Together we'll stand a better chance than either of us alone."

"Fair enough." Hans wondered whether she would kill him too, if she got the chance. He wouldn't necessarily blame her.

Hans and Eugene quickly crossed the square to take some spooked-looking horses that hadn't been able to break their harnesses when the chaos broke out. Hans stopped before a terrified roan and placed a hand on its nose, whispering soothing things to it for a moment until it began to calm down. He felt guilty that he would be riding it right back into hell in a few short minutes.

"Is there really a resistance?" Hans said as he adjusted the harness on the roan that he was appropriating.

"Against King Frederick? Certainly not the one that the priest described," Eugene said. "There was an opposition party to the King, before this all began, but they were just that. A party. The violent resistance that they describe is a farce, designed to justify the King's actions."

"Is it possible that there are citizens within the town who would stand against him?"

"I'm not sure," Eugene said, placing one foot in the stirrup of his horse and swinging onto its back. "King Frederick has always been fairly popular among the people, and even if they're confused and scared by what's happening, they have no one to believe but him. They may have turned against us."

"Where is your family being kept?" Hans said, musing over what the royal consort had said. Even if they could dethrone Everdark, the city would be in turmoil. It would certainly help the nobility restore peace if the public sympathy was with them.

"In the north tower of the palace. It would have looked too strange, I think, for the public to see the King imprisoning his own family."

"Alright," Hans said as he whirled his roan towards the palace. "In that case, you'll ride with us to the castle and break once we get there."

"There's almost certainly going to be a good many guards waiting for us as we arrive, so make sure you break away outside of firing range," Elsa said as she rode Sitron across the square towards them. "We don't want you to get shot, and I can't really protect more than myself with my powers."

Hans stopped for a moment and gazed upon the horse that was once his own. He looked up at Elsa, and saw that she wore the most infinitesimal of smirks. An instant later, she kicked Sitron's flanks, and the horse whirled towards the palace and began to gallop away.

"That's my horse," Hans said sadly to Eugene as he gazed after her.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

 _Today I'll reach Corona. I really don't have any idea what to expect. Maybe I'm overestimating my own abilities and I'll be no match for King Frederick. Maybe they'll all have been executed by the time I arrive. Searching for the outcome where I save Rapunzel and her family feels like looking for a needle in a haystack._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

The Palace Approach,

Corona

January 7th, 1843

The sound of pounding hooves matched the drumbeat of Elsa's heart. She was very aware that she had just killed a man and that before the day ran out, she would have to kill many more. Including Rapunzel's father, if it came to it.

"I have no choice but to trust you, Hans," Elsa shouted. "But if you think that anything is forgiven –"

"I expect nothing from you, Elsa," Hans said as he rode alongside her, eyes roving along rooftops, looking for snipers. "Perhaps throughout the course of this day I will be able to earn your forgiveness."

As they pounded their way towards the castle, Elsa could do little else but notice the terrified citizens who gazed down upon them through their upstairs windows. She wondered how truly shaking this must all be to those who did not understand the madness that had taken King Frederick.

"Snipers!" Hans's sudden shout broke Elsa from her thoughts with a sonic boom.

The former prince whirled about on his horse to sit backwards on the saddle and fired three rounds towards a nearby rooftop. A man collapsed over the edge of the building and hit the cobbles with a rough thud, a rifle sliding off of the rooftop to hit the ground beside him.

Gunfire erupted along the sides of the street as snipers began to rain bullets upon them. Instinctively, Elsa summoned a torrent of ice about herself to catch the bullets, but Eugene did not fare so well. His horse was hit and it collapsed, casting him through the air from its saddle. He shouted out, and Hans twisted back around and yanked on the reins of his roan. It swerved abruptly towards the center of the street and Hans extended an arm towards Eugene's outstretched fingertips.

Their hands clasped, and then Eugene hit the ground, his arm wrenching and eliciting a loud curse. Amidst the hail of sniper fire the roan pounded onwards, dragging Eugene behind it. Hans twisted again, his arms screaming with pain, and caught Eugene's other hand, dragging him onto the back of the horse. Without a word, Hans shoved his pistol into Eugene's hand and the royal consort began to shoot back at the snipers.

They were coming up on a street corner, and Elsa called back to them, "You want your horse back, Hans?"

"I'm not sure that's the most important thing to be thinking about right now, actually," the former prince shouted back as a sniper's bullet exploded a nearby cobblestone, sending shrapnel into his arm.

Get ready to take him when I say now," Elsa shouted, slowing Sitron to ride closer alongside the other men.

Realizing that Elsa was going to abandon the horse, Hans passed the reins to Eugene and swung both of his legs onto the same side of his roan, ready to leap.

"Now!" Elsa rolled sideways off of her horse as they entered the corner and cast a curling arc of ice before her. In the same moment Hans leapt from his own horse, arcing through the air to land roughly upon Sitron's back, fumbing with the reins for a moment before he stabilized himself. Elsa landed on the ramp of ice that she had created for herself and slid along it as it curled up to the nearby rooftops.

She twisted off of the ice onto one of the rooftops and sent a wave of icicles into the snipers, eliciting screams of pain. Elsa ran past them, jumping directly off of the edge of the building and summoning a path of ice before herself.

Hans glanced sideways as Elsa easily kept pace with a galloping horse, gliding along on a path of slick ice. Not for the first time today, he realized just how outclassed he was by wizards.

The horses pounded past the edge of the last block before the palace and came into an open courtyard. Just before the palace gates was a large group of guards waiting to meet them. As planned, Eugene broke away as Elsa and Hans continued directly towards them.

" _Fire!"_ The commander of the men gave a cry to shake his epaulets as he swung his saber towards the advancing pair, and his men answered the call with a song of gunfire.

Elsa sped in front of Hans and twisted sideways, the icy path she left forming a thick barrier in front as the hail of bullets met them. Sitron leapt over the wave of ice and Hans drew both of his swords, landing amongst the men with a crash. Elsa twisted off of her path in a roll and threw two bolts of ice into the men, landing on her feet and flicking a third, catching a guard in the stomach.

Hans swung about with his blades as Sitron reared and kicked, earning a wide berth. The horse planted one of its shoes in a man's jaw, destroying the lower part of his face and sending him into the arms of his comrades. One of the men lowered a rifle and fired, hitting Sitron in the flank. The horse continued to thrash about at the men, screaming in rage. One, two more it felled before it was shot again, and it began to slow. The commander swiveled his pistol about and shot Sitron once more.

The noble horse collapsed to the ground, sending Hans off in a roll and crying out its death knell. The former prince rolled to his feet and came up skewering a guard on his blade; he put an arm around the man's neck and whirled towards the rest of the guards, hearing his prisoner scream in pain as he intercepted a half-dozen bullets on Hans's behalf.

"Stand back!" Elsa screamed, widening her stance at the other end of the battlefield.

Hans didn't need to be told twice. He flung the guard's body away from himself and threw himself away from the guards just as a wave of ice swept through them. They were frozen solid, ending the battle in an instant. Just as before, Elsa had left their heads untouched, and the men began to scream curses at them.

Hans turned and knelt beside Sitron, placing a soothing hand on the horse's head. The dying horse was losing blood fast and clearly in an intense amount of pain. Its eyes opened and gazed up at their former master, watery and losing focus.

"Don't worry boy, it's not gonna hurt much longer," Hans said, feeling stinging in his eyes. "You did really well today. Probably saved my life in that fighting."

Sitron continued to gaze up at his master for a matter of seconds; it whinnied softly once more before slowly closing its eyes.

"You were a good horse." Hans stood and looked down at Sitron for a few moments longer before a voice cut through his mourning.

"Ooh, yer gonna cry over yer fuckin horse, are ye, ya little bitch?" One of the guards said, jeering at him.

Feeling a rush of blood in his ears, Hans white-knuckle-gripped a saber that had fallen nearby and swung up to the man's head. His eyes scrunched shut, but Hans stayed the blade half an inch from the man's nose. Elsa stood a bit closer to the entrance to the palace, stopped nervously to watch the exchange.

The man slowly opened an eye and saw that Hans had not killed him. Before the guard could say anything, Hans lowered the blade and rammed it into the ice covering his genitals, skewering him all the way through and running a reddened blade out of the back of the ice.

The guard's eyes widened and his mouth gaped, unable to speak for the pain.

"Watch your fucking mouth," Hans spat as he walked past the guard, leaving the saber where it was.

Elsa turned towards the magnificent double doors that entered the palace and called magic to her hands as she saw them opening. A single man, dressed as a servant, stepped into the bloody courtyard and took a shaky breath, clearly unsure that he was safe.

"King Frederick is impressed with your abilities," the man said, nodding somberly to the pair, "and he wishes to invite both of you inside. If you would follow me, I can lead you to him now."

Hans looked at Elsa, who simply nodded and started to follow the servant. Moments later, Hans started after them as well.

xxx

The castle appeared surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. It was eerily empty and quiet, yes, but the walls were still decorated with expensive vases and tapestries, and the chambers were still kept in immaculate condition by the servants. Elsa knew these halls well and quickly discerned that they were headed towards not the throne room, but to King Frederick's study.

The servant knocked three times upon the oaken door, and Elsa allowed her hands to go cold with magic. She had no idea what would be waiting for her beyond that portal.

"Allow them in." King Frederick said simply.

Elsa and Hans stepped into the study.

The king of Corona sat behind his desk, leaned back almost lazily in his chair, fingers steepled together in front of him. His eyes were completely black and they exuded an inky darkness into the air about his head. There was an astonishing gravity in the room that pushed at Elsa's chest, constricting her throat and making it difficult to breathe.

"Why, if it isn't _both_ of the little thorns in my side," Frederick said, smiling. "I certainly won't complain, makes things easier for me." He waved for the pair to take seats, and when neither did, he smiled again.

"Now please, if you'll indulge me some pleasantries before we get down to killing each other, perhaps you'll find that such a barbaric resolution to this little dispute isn't necessary after all."

"If we end your life here, it would be nothing you didn't deserve," Elsa said harshly, wisps of ice trailing from the edges of her hands and her eyes.

"Ah-ah-ah," Frederick said, waving a finger in the air and flashing teeth. "Killing poor old King Frederick won't rid the world of my presence. Matter of fact, it'd barely dent it, the way things are going these days. Are you really prepared to kill a father, and a grandfather, and a beloved king, for your little game?"

"It's not our game, bitch," Hans said as he pulled back the hammer on the revolver that he had trained at Frederick's head. "We're just here to make sure you don't win it."

King Frederick sighed. "Perhaps I will have to _make_ you see reason."

There was a sudden, noiseless rumbling in the room that made the hair on the back of Elsa's neck rise. The queen felt an intruder slip into her mind, wrenching control of her thoughts in a heartbeat. She realized somewhere that she was as good as dead already.

Hans was prepared for the telepath. He had already conjured a vision of Anna to singularly focus on by the time the foreign god was in his mind, running over the same, few things that he actually knew about the princess.

 _She likes sandwiches. Elsa ignored her when they were younger. She stepped on my feet a lot when we were dancing._

It worked. Hans smiled a bit as he pulled the trigger.

In an instant, Elsa swung an arm and a sheet of ice formed between Hans and the King, taking the bullet. Confused and startled badly enough that his defenses almost slipped, Hans turned towards the Queen of Ice and saw that her eyes looked strangely empty.

Too late, he realized that she had been dominated. Elsa threw Hans upon the opposite wall with a flick of the wrist and then shot him through with three bolts of ice, one in each shoulder, and a third in his stomach. The former prince cried out in pain and tried to raise his pistol once more, but a last icy pin skewered his hand to the wall, sending the pistol clattering across the floor.

"Fight its control, Elsa!" Hans screamed, trying desperately to reach the spear in his stomach with his left hand. "You are strong enough to fight its corruption!"

Elsa heard his words but it was if her head was underwater. She was a spectator to her own actions as she witnessed herself dismantle Hans so quickly. The queen turned to King Frederick and saw him lean forwards a bit, smiling.

"I must say, I'm actually a bit disappointed, Elsa," Frederick sneered. "I was so sure that you would stand a better chance of resisting me than the fool whose face I wear for the moment.

"And you. I must say, young man, that I am very impressed by you. I have never met a nonmagical person who could resist a telepath. If Elsa hadn't been here to save me, why I certainly think things would have turned out differently just now."

"Fuck you," Hans said gravelly, his voice thick with pain as he bled onto the carpeted floor. Frederick chuckled.

"Now, now, there's really no need for that kind of language here. I could certainly use someone of your particular talents on my side, young man, but unfortunately I can't make you an offer. You see, I can only make use of those who I have complete control of. No free radicals."

"I would never work for you."

"Ah. Excellent. In that case, I won't regret you as a lost opportunity. Kill him, Elsa."

As Elsa turned towards Hans, the door burst inwards. Eugene and a half-dozen men that the queen didn't recognize stormed into the room, though by their noble finery she could tell that they were members of Corona's court.

Elsa threw a barrier of ice in front of King Frederick as several of them fired upon him, just in time to save him from death. King Frederick was already working his powers against them, and in the next moment one of the men collapsed, killed in a heartbeat by the telepath.

One of the men crossed the room towards Hans to try to free him as Eugene and the others rushed the king, causing Elsa to fall back towards him, still protecting him with her powers.

"Elsa! What are you doing?" Eugene shouted as another of his comrades was snuffed out by the king.

Elsa couldn't respond to him, couldn't even show some sign of warning that she was under Frederick's power. Without a word the queen sent a bolt of ice directly into Eugene's chest. His eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, clutching at the icy spear and gasping in disbelief. In Elsa's peripheral vision, Hans collapsed to the floor, sliding off the last, reddened pin that held him in place as the man who had freed him slumped dead from the telepath.

Frederick stood and frowned as he clenched his fist, watching that man tumble unceremoniously to the ground.

"I gather, from your presence here," Frederick said to Eugene, who lay bleeding out on the floor, "that you managed to free your family from the north tower. Annoying, I will admit, but ultimately futile. I have control of this entire city, young man. What are the odds that three women will be able to fight their way through an entire army on the way out?"

The last noble standing, a mustachioed man with thick brown hair, fell whimpering to his knees before the king.

"Please don't kill me! Please, sir, where is the merciful man who you once were?'

"Excellent question," Frederick said as he stepped over a body to this last noble, cupping a hand under the man's chin and lifting it towards himself. "He wasn't of any use to me." The last noble was killed in the same silent, instant fashion as the rest of his comrades, collapsing onto the floor after a whimpering last gasp.

Elsa was caught in a silent war against the king inside her mind, but she felt quite hopeless. Elsa had no idea how to defend herself from a telepath, didn't even know where to begin. It seemed as if even her petty resistance was only allowed because Frederick had been occupied by the combat, for as he turned to her a great and sudden pressure constricted Elsa's mind.

Her head rolled back upon her neck and she fell to her knees as the King of Corona stepped towards her, smiling genially.

"It's really quite pointless to continue resisting me, Queen Elsa. We can certainly use a powerful sorceress like you, and I reward those loyal to me quite handsomely."

Struggling to speak, Elsa managed, "You'll never win, Everdark. Even if you kill me and Hans and Eugene, someone will stand against you and you'll be defeated, just like before."

"There's the rub, you see," Frederick said, kneeling beside Elsa and rubbing at his beard. "I learned quite a bit from my past mistakes, and this time I've made quite sure to start consolidating the nations of your world far sooner. Last time I was punished for my own arrogance, for thinking that I could subvert humanity while entire countries still stood against me. So congratulations. I'm playing by humanity's rules now."

"Arendelle will never fall to your corruption," Elsa said, the pounding in her head sweltering like a massive headache.

Frederick laughed. "Oh, my dear Elsa. It already has."

xxx

"Neiman Redford was a martyr! He was a brave, outspoken _hero_ , assassinated for his belief in an administration that is not hellbent on totalitarian dictatorship!" Lord Aurelius screamed from the floor of the courts to the men in emergency session.

As he finished his statement he threw a bloody coat upon the floor and the chamber roared. It just so happened that this was the same coat Redford had been found stabbed in merely hours before.

"The cowardly attempts of the bastard queen to take what is rightfully ours ends here! We were loyal servants of King Agnarr, and his father before him! We have earned our place in Arendelle's elite, and the young _bitch_ who calls herself 'queen' tries to take that away from us! Not only this, but the _coward_ had the audacity to have one of our own killed for daring to speak out against her, and then she fled her own country rather than face retribution from the men who made her great!

"Well, I think it is high time that we started reclaiming our rights! Now is our time to do so, while the tyrant is abroad! Now is our time to restore the honor of Arendelle and its noble heritage! Now is our time to put that woman in her _place_ like any group of self-respecting men would do!"

Chauncey sat towards the rear of the forum, tasting something metallic and feeling a hot sweat. He slowly stood, and, making sure that none of the remaining nobles noticed him in their fervor, slipped from the chamber. He needed to find someone who could stop a revolution, and he needed them now.

"I am honored, fellow Courtsmen, that so many of you are in attendance. Every single member of the House of Lords, and over half of the House of Commons. Those that are not in attendance will pay for their treason against our righteous cause in good time. But first we must swear our fealty to a new ruler, one to take the place of the young bitch and restore our liberty!"

The roaring grew even louder, and thunderous applause began, but Lord Aurelius was in a fury to cut through all other noise.

"I think we can all agree that guiding a country is _man's_ work! And therefore, we would be doing the country of Arendelle a disservice if we did not restore the throne to a dignified leader! That is why I am all too happy to swear my allegiance to Chief Magistrate Namar Sadden, the man closest to King Agnarr and the rightful successor to his throne!"

From the passageway into the court stepped Namar Sadden, nodding to the applauding Courtsmen and smiling graciously. He wore robes of black with a particular golden trim that none in the crowd quite recognized, but it was a motif that certainly felt quite familiar. Reassuring, almost.

Namar Sadden raised his hands for silence and it came quickly. "I am honored to accept your nomination to replace Queen Elsa. And I assure you that under my rule, a woman will never again step on your considerable authority, gentlemen."

Amidst the applause, Lord Aurelius bowed to Namar Sadden and said, "Namar Sadden, I swear unending fealty to your rule and call you my king. Bring honor again to this great nation that we call home."

Almost instantly, another member of the House of Lords stood from the crowd and offered the same oath. And then another. And another.

One by one, the court swore fealty to Namar Sadden, and gave their allegiance to the God of Darkness.


	20. Chapter Eighteen

Author's Note:

Because Chapter 17 leaves off on quite the cliffhanger, I decided to upload Chapter 18 a bit earlier than normal so you don't get left hanging quite as long. Enjoy! :)

xxx

Chapter Eighteen

 _The wizard came to realize that he could use the practice of tensing to capture the souls of his adversaries._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

A Hospital in Olympia,

The Southern Isles

May 13th, 1835

Hans sat beside the hospital bed, wringing his hands for lack of anything better to do with them. Mallory's broken frame lay in the bed before him, drawing shallow breaths through a thin chest. Her breathing had been labored ever since the incident, and it had been the unwelcome task of one of the doctors to inform Hans yesterday that it wasn't improving.

She was dying.

Hans's eyes were swollen from tears and from lack of sleep, and he couldn't remember the last time that he had eaten. The more certain he became that Mallory would never recover, the more he wondered if he had anything else to live for. It hadn't helped when he had learned that Maxwell and his friends were all expected to live; none of them would even be crippled badly. Adolphus had sent for help immediately after Hans had confronted him, and that help had arrived, Hans had gathered, just after he had left with Mallory.

The injustice of it all made him sick. When Admiral James had visited yesterday, he had informed Hans that the king had indeed decided to charge Maxwell for the crime, because 'the boy must learn.' So Hans's father had personally removed his eldest son from the Southern Isles's justice system to select the punishment himself. It was no coincidence that, with Maxwell headed towards rape and battery charges that would cost him twenty years in prison and secession from the inheritance, the king had settled on a fine to be paid to the James family and a revocation of his military captaincy instead.

Hans realized that his knuckles had gone white from the force with which he clenched his fists, and took a ragged breath. Maxwell was a waste of human life, but it didn't matter. He was always father's favorite son, and he would still be the fucking King of the Southern Isles one day. Admiral James had expressed his condolences to Hans and told him that he was resigning. He didn't want to work for a man like Hans's father anymore.

Hans didn't want to be his father's son anymore, but that wasn't really an option.

In his darkest moments, Hans felt that he was to blame for Mallory's condition. After all, he had heard Maxwell talking about his plans to advance on her days before. He had been ashamed of the fact that Maxwell had beaten him, and as such Hans had kept silent about the whole thing. The prince didn't really know if Mallory would have been safer in any way if she had known what Maxwell was planning, but it might have saved her.

Even as this thought tormented him, he saw the girl's eyes flicker. Hans sat up in his chair, gasping and leaning closer. Mallory's eyelids parted slightly and she took a short, whistling breath before her pupils found Hans. The prince would like to think that she smiled, but her mouth was distorted by a welt and he couldn't really tell.

"Hans."

"Mallory," Hans managed, his voice thick with pain. This is the first time she had awoken while he was here, maybe the first time she had awoken since she was raped and beaten.

"Hans…" Mallory slowly raised a shaking arm, lightly brushing his cheek before the hand fell again to the bed. "I don't have very long."

"Don't say that, Mallory, things are going to work out just fine, you'll see!" Hans didn't believe anything that was spilling out of his mouth, but he wanted to console her. To console himself.

"No, Hans," Mallory said, shaking her head infinitesimally. "I have to leave you."

"Please, Mallory," Hans said, his eyes stinging with tears and fear tearing a hole through his stomach, "don't leave! I need you here, I _need_ you!"

Mallory smiled weakly. "You'll always have me, Hans. Look inside and I'll be there. Just not on the outside, anymore."

"Please, Mallory, I promise I'll protect you from everything from now on! I'll never fail again, I'll never let something else happen –"

"Hans. You didn't fail me. You never failed me. You're a brave man."

Feeling his tears run more quickly now, Hans said, "No, Mallory –" but she cut him off again with a soft smile.

"You have a noble heart."

And Mallory closed her eyes, a soft smile still gracing her wounded face.

And she died.

Hans leaned forwards to kiss her forehead once more, and as his lips brushed her skin he murmured a soft goodbye to the girl that had made his life worth living.

xxx

Nearly eight years later, Hans realized vaguely that Frederick had broken his defenses. He wouldn't be reliving Mallory's death for any other reason. In some ways, he welcomed the emotional anguish this caused him, for at least while he was occupied by memories he wasn't focusing on the fact that he was rapidly bleeding out onto the floor.

He also realized that if his defenses had been broken by a hostile telepath, the only reason that he was still alive was that Frederick hasn't chosen to kill him yet. Perhaps he was preoccupied with something else.

"You're lying," Elsa said, her voice frantic. Hans cracked open an eye from where he lay prostrate to see Frederick knelt beside the queen, bodies abound on the floor around them.

"Though I am no stranger to deceit, young lady, I assure you that I am telling the truth. As we speak, a coup is underway in the city that you call home, engineered by my most faithful servant of all: your very own Chief Magistrate."

Frederick's back was turned to Hans, but Elsa faced him. She did not see him, however; her face was turned towards the King of Corona and it was colored by terror and hopelessness.

"Namar Sadden?" Elsa said in disbelief. Hans's pain-addled brain concluded that Elsa wasn't going to be able to break the king's control. And if that was the case, he was going to have to defeat her. Somehow.

Hans's mind was still ablaze with images of Mallory's deathbed, but this time something was different. Just as when he had saved Eugene from execution what felt like years ago, this time things were different because they _had to be._ Because if a miracle didn't happen, people would die.

This time he heard Mallory's final words over and over in his head: _You have a noble heart._ His entire life since Mallory's death, those words had felt like a lie to him. They were a mistake. She thought that he was something that he wasn't. This time, he realized that she was right.

He had committed more than his share of ignoble deeds in his time, but those actions were not the end of who Hans Westergaard was. The only girl that he had ever truly loved had not chosen her dying words to make some idle comment about the present. She was portending the future. Hans had a noble heart, and he would spend every moment of the rest of his existence proving it.

The force of truth broke Everdark's grasp on the former prince. It gave him strength like he had never felt before, and in that moment Hans's functional hand found one of his swords.

Elsa realized now that failure was the worst feeling of all. She had failed herself, Eugene, Hans, her people. Corona would fall because she was unable to control her own mind, and Arendelle would fall because she had been overconfident and abandoned it in a time of need. The swelling of fear in her heart obliterated every other thought and possible emotion; it was like she was eleven again, locked in her room and struggling not to hurt herself or the ones she loved.

She never knew why she had been chosen to bear such a double-edged 'blessing.' Elsa had repeatedly proven to herself that she was an unfit sorceress and an unfit queen. And now Wulfric Shaw, the last of the Keepers of the Stele, had entrusted to her the mission of defeating a god. In the end, she was only accelerating its victory.

"Now, young man," Frederick said, turning and stepping back to put Elsa between himself and Hans, "don't think I didn't notice that you were still alive over there."

Thinking quickly, Hans remained on the ground, loosening his grip on the sword and trying to appear as close to dead as possible. He needed Elsa to approach him to have any chance of defeating her. Close enough that her magic wouldn't help her.

"Before your friends so rudely interrupted us, I believe that Elsa was just about to kill you. Does that sound correct?"

At Frederick's call, Elsa stood and walked across the room towards Hans, her protesting thoughts ineffectual at stemming the tide of unwelcome actions. She stepped over a body to come within a foot of Hans lying on the ground, calling magic to her hands and preparing to strike him down where he lay dying on the floor.

His moment had come. Hans twisted off of the ground and lunged at the queen with more strength than Frederick possibly could have assumed that his broken form would possess. He slammed into her and quickly stepped in the same direction as she stumbled, keeping himself as close as he could to her frame. She struggled to bring her arms to bear and throw a spell at him as he darted around her side, locking one of his legs with hers and bringing her to the floor in a stumble.

He then locked an arm around one of hers from where she knelt on all fours and rolled along her back as Elsa swept a lash of ice across the floor. Hans linked his other arm around hers and flung her across the room as his feet touched the ground again. Elsa collapsed in a heap against the desk and Hans rushed towards her, sliding the last few feet to kick her head into the desk.

There was a loud thump and Elsa cried out before falling unconscious. The former prince turned towards Frederick, who stood some distance away, looking far less confident now that he had merely moments ago. He drew his own ceremonial blade and began to retreat towards the door, a frown now etched into his brow.

"You are far more powerful than even I presumed, young man. Hades has chosen his servant well." Hans met Frederick and their blades crossed.

The former prince was growing quite lightheaded and he realized that he was going to have to make this very fast. He made a quick move towards the King of Corona and their blades scraped against each other once, twice, thrice before they separated and the combatants stepped back. Hans could tell that he was the better swordsman by a long distance, but wounded as he was, they were quite the match.

Hans paced quickly about, taking advantage of the fact that his legs were just about the only uninjured part of him. He stepped towards Frederick and swept low, causing the king to step back towards the bookshelves behind him. Hans pressed the advantage, continuing to thrust at the king until his back was pressed against the shelves and he had nowhere to go.

As Hans made to close the distance between them, Frederick used his free hand to throw a heavy book from the shelf at Hans. The former prince deflected the projectile off of the side of his sword, but in the intermediate time Frederick lunged at him. Hans ducked away from his blade but their bodies still collided, sending Hans backwards from the far larger man. The former prince slipped on a slick of blood and collapsed, realizing that he was as good as dead if he didn't do something drastic.

He threw his sword at Frederick.

Very early on in the instruction of swordplay, a pupil is taught to maintain control of their blade at all costs. If they lose their sword, they lose their life. The very thought of a respectable duelist throwing their blade at an enemy is anathema to many masters of swordplay. Hans, himself, was one of those very people.

Perhaps that is why it worked.

Hans's sword skewered King Frederick's arm just as the former prince hit the ground. Hans rolled to his feet, groaning in pain and staggering as his head swam. His vision was beginning to cloud and his extremities felt very cold. Hans crossed the distance between himself and Frederick in a bound, tearing his sword from the King's useless arm and running it through his stomach, shoving the King of Corona up against the bookshelf and twisting his sword.

Frederick groaned in pain and struggled against the sword in his gut, exacerbating the wound and spilling blood all over Hans's hand.

"You… you win, young man," Frederick managed, gasping as his eyes began to grow glassy. "This time. Do not expect to do so again."

"Try and possess good old dad next time, Everdark," Hans managed as he tore his sword from the king's stomach. "I wouldn't mind killing him half as much."

Hans rammed his sword into Frederick's head, right between the eyes.

No sooner had he done so than Hans collapsed to the floor, his vision blacking out and a comforting peace settling over him.

xxx

Hans opened his eyes to a soft, white ceiling above him. He wasn't immediately aware of what had woken him, but then he heard soft weeping. He turned and saw Eugene in a bed parallel to his own, sitting up and hugging his wife to his chest, their daughter squeezed between them.

"Eugene! You're alive!" Hans was certain that the royal consort had died when Elsa had attacked him. He looked down at himself and laughed. "I'm alive!"

"You're both very lucky to be," Rapunzel said, wiping away a tear as she extricated herself from her husband's arms. "I can't control my magic like Elsa can. It's very fortunate that it worked."

Rosaline, Eugene and Rapunzel's little girl, was positively bubbling with happiness to see her father. Hans couldn't help but wonder how much the little girl understood. The former prince glanced at his own hands, seeing a neat, hole-shaped scar on his right where Elsa had impaled him. He would confirm his suspicions later as he found similar scars on each shoulder and his stomach.

He looked around for Elsa, and saw her standing at the other end of the room, her back turned to them all as she gazed out of the window.

"Hey. Elsa." Hans threw aside his covers and stood, glancing down at the white shift that he wore and admiring its cleanliness. He crossed the room and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Elsa."

The Queen of Arendelle had a distant look on her face as she gazed out of the window. A large bruise shone across the crown of her forehead, and Hans felt a pang of guilt. It seemed like she didn't even realize he was there, but then she addressed him.

"I failed, Hans."

"Hey. That's bullshit. No one ever trained you to fight a telepath; you didn't even have reason to believe that Frederick would be one." Hans didn't really know why he felt the need to defend her; he certainly would have defeated Frederick far more easily without her. But then again, he wouldn't have ever made it to the king without her.

Elsa glanced over at him and he saw that her eyes were watery. "I had no idea that there was even such a thing, which just goes to show how reckless I was. I should never have come here. I'm no professional like you are, now; I'm just a kid who can't even control her own kingdom."

"What do you mean, you can't control Arendelle?"

Elsa returned her gaze to the city below the palace. The sun was setting on a very bloody day, but hopefully it would dawn on a kingdom restored to the light.

"During the fighting, King Frederick told me that my own Chief Magistrate has seized control of the government in a coup."

Hans was about to say that Everdark could have been lying, to try and break her spirit. But by now he realized that there was little to be gained in white lies.

"There's no rest for the wicked, is there?" Hans turned a bit, back to Eugene and his family. It warmed his heart to see the family brought together safely, but Everdark had still taken Rapunzel's father. Not to mention the lives of a great many noblemen and guards.

"I'm scared, Hans. Scared that he'll have taken Anna."

Surprised to find himself in a position to comfort the very woman that he had tried to kill three years ago, he frowned.

"Honestly, Elsa, I can't imagine anyone telling Anna what to do, be they man, or Ancient God of Darkness."

Elsa laughed quickly and softly, smiling a bit. She raised an eyebrow and continued to gaze out of the window as she said, "By the way, you're forgiven."

"Is that because _you_ tried to kill _me_ today?" Hans chuckled.

Elsa tried not to smile but eventually laughed along. "Maybe."

Suddenly she grew serious and turned to look at the former prince. "Who are you working for? Why are you doing this? Why aren't you dead?"

Hans rubbed at the beard that he had grown over the past week or so and frowned. "Excellent questions, your highness. Perhaps it would be best if you sat down for the explanation. It's a bit lengthy."


	21. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

 _I must rouse the magistrates, the royal family, and anyone else the Court will perceive as accomplice to the queen. I fear the overwhelming force of anger will manifest itself in violence for these men._

* * *

Novare's Apartment

Arendelle

January 7th, 1843

Chauncey made it to the palace complex in record time. The magistrates had quarters in a group of buildings outside of the palace proper, but adjoined to it by a cobblestone pathway. The apartments served as chambers for administrative members of the monarchy, with the nicest ones saved for top aides and the Magistrate's Council. The lord pounded upon Novare's door right now, trying to strike a balance between a knock that would be loud enough to rouse, her, without sounding suspicious to possible unfriendly ears.

The young woman groggily opened her door, wearing a fleece nightgown and a weary face.

"Elias?" Novare rubbed at her eyes and squinted at the man on her doorstep. "What are you doing? It's two in the morning…"

Chauncey cast a furtive glance over his shoulder and pushed into the room, throwing the door shut behind him. He then made sure that the blinds were drawn in the living room before turning to a befuddled, but rapidly sharpening Novare.

"I have some very bad news, Odette, and I've come to warn you and as many others as I can about it before something terrible happens."

Novare frowned as she raked her hands through her brunette tangle, straightening the hair enough to twist it into a messy bun as she sat across the stained coffee table from the agitated lord.

"What is it, Elias?"

Elias Chauncey was a man in his mid-forties, young for a member of the court, and handsome, in a plain sort of way. He did not wear a powdered wig at the moment, though most of the times that Novare had seen him before, he had sported one. His natural hair was a bit mousy and thin, and he had a moustache but no beard. He had spent much of his early life as a law clerk in London, for his father considered it important that Chauncey receive a traditional education in the field.

'Some things,' his father liked to espouse, 'don't come from a textbook or a dry old university professor. Some things, you have to learn the old-fashioned way. By actually doing them.' The firm that Chauncey had worked for was quite liberal, in the grand scheme of things; it had taken many cases during his time there on the behalf of worker's rights and the partners were devotees of Engels. It had made its impression on him, and when his father passed the seat to him twelve years ago, the House of Lords had lost a reliably conservative member.

King Agnarr had been very moderate, and as such, for the last twelve years the House of Lords had been given little reason to dislike Elias Chauncey. Of course, Queen Elsa had changed all of that.

"The Court assembled in secret tonight. No official emergency assembly was called, and as such no dissenting voices were invited. I was only told because the Lords figured that, after all of the salons I'd been to, my mind was starting to change on the matter –"

"Hold, on, Elias," Novare said, regretting her nakedness underneath the nightgown and being very particular about the way she crossed her legs in front of the older man. Every time she felt like she was getting better at acting professional, something like this happened. "Dissenting voices to what? What's going on?"

"Eighty-one members of the court assembled tonight to express their dissatisfaction with Queen Elsa's new platform, excluding myself. Only seventy-seven are needed to reach a supermajority, allowing the court to introduce a unilateral motion. Which could normally be filibustered by the remaining courtsmen, but they were not present."

Novare was surprised to hear that Queen Elsa's support in the Court had eroded so much. Directly after coronation she had been very popular, and she had certainly lost a lot of ground after the Great Freeze, but Novare had always assumed that the queen had established a good amount of credibility again in the years since.

"What sort of motion were they trying to pass?"

"Initially, I assumed that they were planning to draft an official writ of dissention." Chauncey again glanced at the shuttered windows in a way that made Novare nervous.

"But they didn't?" A writ of dissention was the most common way for the Court to formally express their discontent with the monarch's decisions. It was technically a powerless document, but Arendelle's monarchs had established a generations-long precedent of respecting the Court's protests.

"Not at all. It appears that there has been the framework for something far more nefarious for quite some time now. They passed totally unprecedented indictment act that removes the Court's fealty to the queen. It seems there will be a coup."

Novare felt her mouth go dry. "A coup?"

"I do not know who the men plan to take the helm of their revolution, but I have seen the sparks. And there will be fire. They are hellbent on 'taking back' what they perceive to be theirs, and I fear they will leave destruction in their wake. I also fear for the safety of anyone these revolutionaries consider to be accomplices to the queen."

"Do you really think we're in danger? I mean, these are political men. Surely they want to do this legitimately?"

"Do not be so quick to assume so, Odette. I have seen the Court plot against the queen for three weeks now, and quite present among the rumblings of discontent have been warnings of violence. They do not consider her a legitimate ruler, and as such they have no qualms about using force to restore what they believe is theirs. And even if the coup does not come to violence, it would behoove supporters of the queen to gather and formulate a response."

"Alright, I want to help you," Novare said as she gathered her wits and began to formulate a plan. "We can split up and warn more people. I'll take the royal family; it would look strange for you to enter the palace at this late hour."

Chauncey nodded, already standing and moving towards the door. "And I will warn the other magistrates. I imagine that Namar Sadden will be able to calm the Court's temper a bit. The men have always had a liking for him."

"Where do we regroup?" Novare said as Chauncey peeked through the slats of the blinds.

"Shit."

"What? What's wrong?" Novare stood, walking over to gaze past Chauncey into the courtyard below the apartments; several men holding torches were gathered and milling about in the snow. One of them turned and pointed at Novare's apartment. They began to move towards it.

"Go. Now. I'll distract them long enough for you to make your escape. Warn whomever you can. Take them to Angela's Antiques on second; she lives in the apartment above the shop. Angela is my cousin; tell her what's happened and she'll find a way to hide you there. Go!"

Novare turned and ran through her small abode, fear seizing her chest as she rapidly threw a coat on over her nightgown and looked about her room, wondering whether she was supposed to take anything else. After realizing that she was wasting time, Novare dashed to the other end of her house and threw open the window, immediately buffeted by an icy wind.

She knew there was a ladder on this side of the building that the gardeners used to patch and clear the roof after heavy snowfalls and the like, but she hadn't anticipated how far it would be from her window. The rusted old ladder shone dully in the moonlight no less than five feet from the closest edge of her window, and her quarters themselves were three stories aboveground.

Novare gulped.

She swung a leg over the edge of the window, and then the other one; now sitting on the windowsill with her legs dangling over the side, she thought about how far the drop was, and how there was no possible way she could reach the ladder without jumping. Now Novare could hear the voices of the men who had climbed the staircase to her apartment; they were banging on the door and demanding that she open it. The bitter January wind tore at the hem of her nightgown, running its icy grasp across her bare legs.

Murmuring a quick thanks to Chauncey and hoping against hope that they wouldn't hurt him, Novare made to jump and stopped herself, swaying over the dizzying fall. _Elsa wouldn't be afraid of this jump,_ a voice inside of her head said.

 _How the hell can you know that?_ The logical part of her responded. _Being a powerful sorceress and an expert at statecraft has nothing to do with being able to jump five feet onto a ladder from three stories off the ground._

 _Alright,_ that voice responded, _but Elsa would be very grateful if you help protect her family._

 _Dammit._

Novare jumped.

The girl soared through the air for a fleeting moment before slamming against the side of the building, grasping frantically for the icy ladder and sliding down it a bit before stabilizing. The ladder creaked and strained against the screws that held it in place, and Novare groaned with dismay as she struggled to keep her hold. After several heart-pounding moments, the rushing in her ears quieted and she heard the pounding of the revolutionaries on her front door again.

Novare hurried down the rest of the ladder and ran along the snowy cobblestone path, fleeing as her heart pounded in her throat. She could only hope that other revolutionaries hadn't yet stormed the palace.

Meanwhile, Chauncey stood tall as the revolutionaries broke the door. They fell upon the room like a murder of crows; their leader, a courtsman named Ferdinand, set his eyes on Chauncey immediately.

"What the hell are you doing here, Chauncey?" Ferdinand's men swarmed Novare's apartment, searching for the girl.

"I don't believe that I will answer that question until you do first, Ferdinand. Whatever is the reason for your armed entry to Miss Novare's house? I assure you, there will be legal proceedings about –"

"A window in the hallway is open, Patrick." Another of the men had rushed back into the sitting room to break the unpleasant news.

Ferdinand turned to Chauncey and contemplated him as if he were a particularly disgusting insect. "Where the fuck is she?"

"You have no right to that information." Chauncey glared defiantly at the revolutionaries swarmed about him. "You're nothing but a bunch of brigands and cowards."

Ferdinand looked over Chauncey's shoulder and nodded. Two men seized the lord from

behind and forced him to his knees before Ferdinand, cursing and struggling against them to no avail. Ferdinand now knelt in front of Chauncey and considered the kneeling man, his face hard.

"I always knew you were one of them," Ferdinand spat. "You have two options. Either you give us the location of the magistrate you have helped to hide, or we will kill you, and your family."

Chauncey laughed. "Do you think that this is the first place I came? My family was warned hours ago, you fucking bastard. By now they'll have left the city."

Ferdinand's face momentarily flashed with anger before he recovered himself. "Very well. We'll have to make your death a bit more painful to make up for it. Bind him."

Upon Ferdinand's command, Chauncey was roughly shoved into a chair that one of the men had retrieved from the small kitchenette. He tried to struggle for a moment, and he cursed them all wildly, but they gagged his mouth with a bedsheet and began to tie his arms. Chauncey realized that he was about to die. The men finished binding the lord and stepped back around him. Ferdinand thought for a moment before speaking again.

"Leave us." And suddenly, they were alone.

When the last revolutionary scrambled through the door, Ferdinand began to walk slowly around the room, using his torch to light first the drapes, then the sofa, and then the carpet on fire. The courtsman then dropped his torch in the developing blaze and walked back to the door, turning to look back at Chauncey.

"I'll see to it that your house is overturned the process of our liberation. If I catch so much as a trace of your family, I'll make sure they join you in hell." The door slammed behind Ferdinand and acrid smoke blossomed throughout the room.

Chauncey passed out from the fumes long before the fire reached his feet. He didn't feel a thing.

xxx

"What happens if I die on earth?" Hans glanced sidelong at the Prince of Death as they stood at the edges of a table spread with a map of the world; it was set with miniature figurines that represented known spheres of Everdark's influence. It was January 8th, and Hans had made a quick return to the Underworld to get the Prince of Death's advice on how best to proceed.

Hades was silent for a long moment as he ruminated on the uncomfortably large number of the figurines dotting Northern Europe. Arendelle was just the latest addition to a list that included parts of Germany, Ireland, and the Baltic states.

"Hmm?"

"I almost died on the last mission. I mean, I've almost died on plenty of your missions, now, but the last time was even closer. And I realized that I don't know what happens if I do."

"If you do, wonderboy," Hades said, rubbing his jaw as he leaned back from the table and considered his servant, "then you're gone. You pass on into the afterlife for real. So don't go and get yourself killed. You've been extremely useful so far, and I don't want to have to search for another right now."

"Wouldn't you be able to alter that, somehow? I mean, you kind of run the show around here."

"While I am incredibly pleased that the persona I project would lead you to believe that, wonderboy, I'm really more of a custodian of the afterlife than I am a 'show runner.' I can't bring anyone back to life. It's only using ancient magics that came long before me that I'm able to keep mortal servants in the first place."

Hans nodded. "Alright, fair enough. So what do you think we should do?" He said, changing the subject and gesturing towards Arendelle on the map. "Should I go in and try to fix things there as well? What should I tell Elsa?"

Hades sighed. "That's the question, isn't it? None of my sources have been able to tell me anything about Namar Sadden. No one seemed to suspect that he was a servant of Everdark; we don't even know if he's a wizard, although it's very likely that he is.

"I imagine that the queen is very concerned about the safety of her loved ones left in Arendelle, especially after she experienced the bloodshed in Corona firsthand. What I don't imagine is that either of us have much sway in telling her what she should and shouldn't do to protect her family."

"And me?" Hans scratched at his beard, wondering absently when the last time he had shaved was. Certainly a month ago, at least.

"Go with her," Hades said after a long moment. "Between the two of you, Everdark will have to field quite the response. In the meantime, I may just have to call upon an old friend."

Hans nodded to the Prince of Death and excused himself from the room. He still needed to speak to Lady Blackheart before his visit to the Underworld was complete.

xxx

"I have to say, Hans, that I'm very impressed with you," Lady Blackheart said as Hans entered her study. "You managed to protect yourself from a telepath expertly under the duress of battle. And a powerful one, at that."

"Thank you, Lady Blackheart," Hans said, bowing slightly to the witch. "I'm actually here to discuss just that."

"Go on," Lady Blackheart said as Hans took a seat across from her.

"Queen Elsa, of Arendelle, was there with me, during the fighting. She was totally unprepared to defend herself from King Frederick; she hadn't ever encountered a telepath before."

"That is not uncommon. We are a rare breed."

"Well, yes, but it seems unlikely that we will never encounter one again in our struggle against Everdark, and I was wondering if you could think of any reasonable way for me to teach her, as you instructed me."

Lady Blackheart frowned and considered this for a moment.

"It seems unlikely, Hans. You could teach her the method, to be sure; however, there really wouldn't be any way to tell if she's presenting an appropriate defense. Without an actual telepath to test herself against, that is."

Hans sighed. He had expected as much, and was planning on trying to teach Elsa the methodology regardless.

"And there's no way for her to come here with me and learn from you, is there?"

"Nor for me to come to her. I'm sorry, Hans."

Hans nodded and fell silent for a moment, thinking. "Something tells me that I'm not going to have much more time to spend under your instruction, Lady Blackheart."

"I have felt this as well. Which is a shame, really, because you have so much more to learn. But the world needs you now, Prince Hans. So go."

Hans stood to leave, but he turned at the door and smiled wryly. "I'm not a prince anymore."

"By now you've earned the title of prince more than any of your brothers, I'd posit."

"Maybe true, but I've little interest left for the empty titles of men. My life is now given to a nobler purpose."

xxx

Elsa extricated herself from her cousin's arms, feeling a gnawing pit in her stomach as she considered the farewell party that had gathered at the docks to see them away to Arendelle. A bitter January wind found them wrapped in thick cloaks as a lazy snow fell over the city.

"Please, please be careful," Rapunzel said, earning a nod from Eugene, who stood behind his wife with a hand on her shoulder. "After everything that happened here, I can't even begin to imagine –"

"Try not to worry too much," Elsa said, wondering how she could convince herself of that. "I'm sure that we'll be able to put an end to it, just like we did here."

Immediately, Elsa regretted saying that. A single glance at Arianna, standing a bit behind her daughter and son-in-law, reminded the Queen of Arendelle the price that had been paid for peace. Tomorrow Arianna would undergo the official ceremonies to receive the crown and official statesmanship from her late husband. Due to the extreme circumstances at hand, there would be little pomp and circumstance.

Elsa turned next to Eugene, and had trouble meeting his gaze. "Listen, Eugene…"

"Your majesty," the dashing consort said, clasping her hand and smiling wistfully. "You'll find no bad blood on my account. You had just as much hand in saving the day as Hans. Your heart was in the right place."

"Thank you," Elsa said simply, still feeling the crushing weight of guilt.

And the time had come to go. Hans made far quicker farewells, and they stepped aboard the ship that would fly them to Arendelle. The queen waved a solemn goodbye to the royals as the vessel's captain made the calls to sail. And they slipped into the icy sea.

Hans turned and walked across the ship towards the prow, shoving his hands into his coat to insulate them against the chill. Halfway to the front, he stopped amidst a swath of sailors rushing about, adjusting the sails; several cursed at him as they were forced to move around him. Hans looked over his shoulder and saw the Queen of Arendelle standing alone at the stern.

"Get that chin up."

Elsa turned with a start as she saw Hans appear again at her shoulder. "I'm fine, Hans. Really."

"Bullshit. I know you're not. But I can't have you wasting time feeling sorry for yourself, because I need you in a fit shape to train."

Elsa prickled at his words and turned, her brows hardening. "Train? Train for what? I'm not about to start swinging a sword around!"

Hans smiled, successfully haven broken her melancholy demeanor. "No, not that at all. I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself from a telepath."

Elsa's frown remained as she contemplated the former prince. " _You_ can teach me?"

"Well, of course I can," Hans said, acting affronted by the question and hoping that his behavior would sell her on the idea. "You saw me resist Frederick firsthand. I can teach anyone willing to learn."

Elsa eyed him warily, reminding Hans that they still had trust issues. They probably always would. After a few more moments she nodded tersely.

"Alright, Hans, you'll find in me a willing student."

"Excellent," Hans said, clapping his hands. "Now let's find somewhere to have a seat and begin. Yes, immediately, your majesty. Time is among the resources we cannot afford to spare right now."


	22. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

 _This is bad. This is really, really bad. I should have just stayed at university._

* * *

The Palace Approach,

Arendelle

January 7th, 1843

Even as Novare sprinted along the cobblestone path towards the west entrance, slipping repeatedly on the icy slush, she could tell that she was too late. From here the girl had an angled view of the main courtyard before the front of the palace; it was filled with torch-wielding men streaming through the ornate double-doors. Many of the castle's windows streamed thick smoke and glowed with the fire of revolution. A deep, steady battle hymn poured from the firebrands, thrumming the beat of war into the night air.

This was far more than the courtsmen alone could muster. The populace had been suddenly and massively incited to violence against their beloved ruler in a way that was so wholly unnatural it implicated the machinations of outside forces.

 _This appears to be the work of Everdark._ The name of the dark god sounded alien and uncomfortable in Novare's analytical mind, but no other explanation made any sort of sense. The populace loved Elsa. They would never come to this on their own.

Even as these thoughts whirled about her mind, the western entrance burst outwards and a great rush of screaming men and women fell upon the steps. Novare was caught almost instantaneously amidst their fleeing tide, trying to gaze past their terrified faces into the portal beyond. A group of vindictive, murderous men appeared at the entrance and lowered rifles towards the crowd.

Novare felt her breath catch as she saw the guns; she was frozen solid, paralyzed by fear and unable to move. Suddenly an arm gripped her and began to drag her along, the man who did so shouting something unintelligible at her. The syncopated chorus of gunfire filled the young magistrate's ears.

All around her, terrified palace servants were cut down like unpleasant weeds. Dead and dying rained upon the ground all around her as the man continued to drag Novare. She finally found her feet and began to spring alongside the man and perhaps a dozen or so others. More gunfire.

A woman running right beside Novare was hit and a warm splatter kissed her cheek; the magistrate was too terrified to react. They kept running, and while the others began down the cobblestone path towards the apartments, the man guiding her twisted sideways and dove into a garden. Long hedges contained the area, and a concentric series of rings of these hedges defined the space inside it. Stumbling across the snow-covered ground and realizing that somewhere she had lost a slipper, Novare made to run deeper into the garden, but the man's hand stayed her.

As soon as Novare stopped moving, she fell to the snowy ground and vomited. Never before had she been confronted so forcefully with the immediacy of death, and never before had she been eyewitness to one murder, let alone two dozen. Her breaths came raggedly as she tried to fight down the all-consuming panic.

"We shouldn't traverse farther into the garden, miss Novare," the voice said softly. "This way, if we are discovered, we aren't trapped somewhere with only one entrance."

Novare weakly looked up and saw that Elsa's master servant, Montaigne, was knelt beside her. An expression of grave concern furrowed his brow deeply, and he periodically glanced over his shoulder even as the sounds of death retreated into the far distance.

"I feel very fortunate to have found you, miss, for I know that at least one of Elsa's loved ones is safe."

Were Novare in a better mood, she would likely have been quite pleased by the notion that the queen's closest friend considered Novare one of Elsa's 'loved ones.'

"What do you mean, 'at least one?' What about Anna and her fiancé? Are they alright?"

"I have no reason to believe that they are dead; at least, not yet. The revolutionaries are far more likely to take important persons into custody rather than kill them outright. That way, later they have the option of using them for public executions."

Montaigne's face grew somewhat distant for a moment. It was far from lost on the elderly man that he was reliving the French Revolution of his youth. Except where before he had been the son of a poor cobbler and felt as if he were being liberated, this time he was one of the targets of the slaughter.

"However, I have not seen them since supper. They are almost certainly captured."

Even under pressure, Novare's brain continued to keep pace with the situation. Her seize-up with the guns was uncharacteristic of her acuity, and it felt comfortable to be analyzing the situation again.

 _The biggest mistake that people of all stripes consistently make during crisis situations is their assumption that their actions will be able to affect the outcome._

So rushing in headlong and trying to save Anna and her fiancé was practically suicide. There was little Novare could do against armed men, after all. She felt consummately powerless in this situation, one all her years of learning had failed to prepare her for.

 _Our best bet is to stick to the plan. Too few people have any sort of plan in a crisis, and even less than that amount will follow through with it. Those people are the ones who die or get their loved ones killed in situations like this._

"I spoke to Chauncey earlier," Novare said, standing on wobbling knees. "He has a cousin who owns an antique shop on second. We need to get there; she can hide us."

"Good. From there we can plan a rescue for Princess Anna and the rest of the captured royals." Montaigne walked to the edge of the concealed garden and peered out into the palace courtyard. "The revolutionaries appear to have moved on from this area. The time to make our getaway is now."

Novare followed the old servant to the edge of the garden, unprepared for the horror that awaited her. She cast a glance back at the palace as they prepared to run, and saw it burning. _The entire palace was on fire._ Even as her gaze remained locked on the flaming spires, a glass window exploded from the heat differential and let a gout of black smoke into the night sky.

"Come now, miss Novare," Montaigne placed a consoling hand on the young woman's shoulder. "We must go. There is nothing we can do."

He was right. Slowly, Novare tore her gaze away from the burning castle and the field of bodies that littered the ground before it. And they ran.

Angela Croft awoke to a bang on her shuttered window. She started in fear, wondering whether a bird had collided with it. After a few moments, there was another bang. She stood from her bed and wrapped a robe around her nightgown before crossing to the window. The woman of forty-five opened the window and then the shutters, leaning out to see an elderly man and a young woman winding up to throw another stone below.

The girl stoppered her arm and called up in the quietest voice that would carry to the second level, "Please let us in! We're friends of Elias and we desperately need shelter!"

"Friends of Elias, you say?" Angela's annoyance at being woken in the middle of the night faded when she heard her dear cousin's name. If some of his friends were in some sort of trouble, she would do right by them. "I'll be down to open the door in just a moment."

As she turned back into her room, Angela's gaze swept the horizon and came to a dead stop as they reached the palace. It was on fire. The entire palace was burning down. Angela ran down the stairs.

"What in the name of the Virgin Mary is going on?" Angela said with a terrified gasp as she threw open the door.

"There has been a revolution," the older man said gravely. "Persons seen as too sympathetic to the queen are in grave danger. Your cousin told us that we might find shelter here."

"Oh good Lord," Angela murmured, throwing a hand over her mouth. "Yes, yes, come in right away."

In a few minutes, the newly introduced Novare and Montaigne sat about an upstairs table as Angela prepared tea. Novare had noticed a great many interesting knickknacks in the shop below, but this was certainly not the time to ask where Angela had come into possession of a fourteenth-century British claymore. The young magistrate accepted a lump of sugar and smiled gratefully at the matronly woman who now took a seat at the table's head.

"Do you think that we are safe here?" Angela said, taking a long draught of her own, wishing there was some liquor in it.

"For the time being, I imagine so," Novare said, earning an affirming nod from Montaigne, who cleared his throat to chime in.

"I was merely a youth in Paris when the first revolution swept the city, but I can assure you that revolutions in general tend to have a certain character. The firebrands, generally disadvantaged in terms of manpower, must heavily rely on the favor of the populace to establish a martial control of the city. They're certainly not about to start angering the civilians that they so desperately need the approval of to establish a mandate."

Angela nodded, trying not to think about the horrible blaze consuming Arendelle's royal palace as they spoke. She hoped that nobody had been hurt so far.

"However, we should fear a quick and violent retribution if the revolutionaries become aware that you are wittingly harboring fugitives."

A quiet and uncomfortable silence fell over the triad as they brooded on their limited options.

"You say that Chauncey sent you?" Angela said, feeling a lump forming in her throat as her mind barely came to think about what she had been suppressing all this time.

"Yes, ma'am." Novare hissed a bit at the end of her statement, anticipating the coming question.

"But he isn't with you now." It wasn't a question after all, just a statement.

"We were separated just as the violence began, ma'am. I don't know what's become of him. He'll probably turn up with other fugitives in an hour or so."

Angela heard the hope coloring Novare's voice and grew very quiet for a few moments, the only sound in the little kitchen the clinking of spoons on porcelain teacups. Novare felt that she should tell Angela what happened, that the lord had volunteered to stay behind and screen for her.

But she couldn't bring herself to say it. It felt like her responsibility, if anything happened to Chauncey. She shouldn't have let him stay behind. They should have both tried to escape; if they had found a way to close the window behind themselves as they made their way out perhaps it would have thrown the revolutionaries off the trail for a precious minute or two.

Novare couldn't tell Angela that Chauncey may have offered his life up to save her, this young girl that Angela didn't know and couldn't possibly think was as valuable as her dear cousin. So Novare stayed quiet and felt sick.

It was a long night. Some time after two, a gang of revolutionaries came down second street, pounding on doors and screaming to anyone who cared to listen, 'Our liberation has come! Our freedom has come! Our time is now!' It was terribly loud, and frightening to Novare. Somewhere, a baby cried. A dog barked.

But Montaigne was right. The men did not storm any houses, didn't create any violence. They just screamed and banged and moved on to scream and bang in other streets. By this time Novare's tea had gone cold and she hadn't drunk much at all. Montaigne and Angela were involved in some sort of conversation that the young magistrate hadn't been listening to very carefully, but after a moment she picked the words 'any minute now' out of Montaigne's mouth.

Any minute now never came.

xxx

The Saint Adelaide Cathedral tolled seven in the morning in the long distance as Namar Sadden stepped from the black coach. Two of his personal attendants were waiting for him, and one fell into lockstep beside him while he walked.

"Your excellency." Ferrero bowed his head for a moment before speaking. "The city is well in hand. There were some resistors in the Wharf District, but reports indicate that they had surrendered by four. Also, several high-profile prisoners have been taken."

The men came to a wooden platform that had hastily been erected in the courtyard in front of the ruins that, just last night, had been Arendelle's palace. Trials of smoke still curled from the ravaged building, and several of the towers had collapsed in on themselves; what remained was little more than a blackened shell.

"Good. Who were they?" Namar Sadden nodded to the massive crowd that had assembled to see him; all of the courtsmen that had already sworn fealty to his rule were in attendance, as well as a good majority of the revolutionaries. Together they formed a sea twenty rows deep and hundreds wide. They applauded his arrival with rigorous vigor.

"Bishop Jean-Baptiste Clement, as well as a good majority of the remaining loyalist courtsmen." Adding that to his capture of Anna Siguror and her fool of a husband, that made just about all of the loyalists. Almost.

"What about the last magistrate? What about Novare?"

"I'm sorry, your excellency."

Namar Sadden frowned. Long ago, the Chief Magistrate had ensured that the other members of the Council would fall in line when he seized the reins. All of the others save Agatha Merke, unfortunately. She had been stronger-willed than the rest. She had been problematic. When he'd attempted an assassination of the queen months ago, accidentally ending Agatha's life instead had been an unexpected boon. Sadden hadn't anticipated that Elsa would suspect foul play however; he had constantly underestimated the queen in the past. He would make that mistake no longer.

It had made Elsa jumpy for weeks on end, had almost ruined everything. The fact that the fool of a man Everdark had sent to Namar Sadden had botched the attempt to kill Elsa afterwards had only made things worse. He had needed to lie low for months afterwards, until other concerns swept to the forefront and the little matter of Agatha Merke faded into memory.

Sadden had imagined that Merke's replacement would be easier to control than she had been, but one look at Novare had informed him that he was again being too optimistic about the situation. This and a conflation of other setbacks had riddled him at every turn, frustrating the Chief Magistrate by no small amount. So he had been forced to engage in a slightly more… distasteful coup than he had originally imagined.

But finally, after years of careful planning, Arendelle was his. And all it had cost him was a drop of humanity in return.

"Citizens of Arendelle!" Namar Sadden shouted from the center of the platform, earning a thunderous cry in return. "The hour of reckoning has come! Long have we waited, in the shadows, never feeling the sun's warmth! Never have we tasted the sweetest fruit of the orchard, _never_ have we truly earned the fruits of _our_ labor!

"But I can assure you all, the only thing that will _never_ happen again in this city is an infringement of our rights! We are, from this moment onwards, our own men! We are great men! Powerful men! We will shout until our voices are heard by history! And they will remember us as heroes, let me make that very clear! We participate in a great and noble work, and we will not be ending it anytime soon! Welcome to prosperity, gentlemen!"

Namar Sadden went on for some five more minutes, the assembled men hanging on his every word. In a feat that had required no small amount of preparation on the part of some willing assistants, a searing exclamation point unfurled on the giant flagpole behind Namar Sadden as his rousing speech came to an end. It was a white flag with the emblem of a black bird burned onto it; the crowd roared their unwitting allegiance to the God of Darkness, and Namar Sadden smiled.

xxx

"We have won a great victory, master."

Namar Sadden knelt in the Dark Chamber in his manor. His servants knew better than to interrupt him when he entered this room; none could possibly know what occurred inside it, but a servant's discretion required that they turn a blind eye to his eerie habits. Everdark flowed about him inside the chamber, a seeping, pure blackness that was everywhere, shutting out all of the light and leeching the color from the world around it.

"I am not so sure that I share your optimism," the God of Darkness said. Even now, Namar Sadden was never quite prepared to hear the deity's voice. Deep and powerful, its words had a way of vibrating in your bones. Getting inside of you and taking control. Especially when it seemed angered, like it did now.

"I… I am not sure what you mean, master. We have the city in hand. There is no more resistance."

"You misattribute your own goals to mine, my servant. Taking the city is secondary to mastering its queen. Until Elsa swears allegiance to me, I will not call this little revolt a success. Do not forget that your duties are far from complete."

"Of course, master." Namar Sadden continued to gaze at the floor. He didn't actually know if Everdark manifested some physical form above him when he entered the Dark Chamber; never once had Namar Sadden dared to look up. Even now, he hesitated before voicing his concerns, afraid of the Dark God's reaction. "Are-are you sure that this is the wisest route to gaining the queen's allegiance? It will be a control bought but not earned –"

"Silence." Everdark's voice did not change at all in character as he spoke the words, yet still the Chief Magistrate quelled in fear. "I have seen Queen Elsa's mind. I know her better now than any human, save herself. She has a great loyalty to her loved ones. Using her young sister as a hostage will prove quite effective in gaining her temporary allegiance, and once she is again under my control I will not be so foolish as to endanger it as I did before. Continue enacting the plan."

As far as the God of Darkness was concerned, the conversation was over, and Namar Sadden could gather as much. He bowed even deeper, his nose almost touching the floor.

"Of course, master."

There was a sudden rush of warmth and a warping noise as the God of Darkness exited the chamber, and in a sudden burst color and light flooded the room again. It was gone.

xxx

Anna woke in a sudden, painful rush. A night's worth of horrid memories flooded back into her conscious mind, and she screamed.

"Kristoff! Kristoff!" Anna leapt to her feet and viciously yanked her ankle against the manacle chaining her to the pallet bed. She collapsed to the stone floor of her cell and groaned in pain, gingerly touching her ankle to make sure that it wasn't injured badly.

"Anna? Anna!" Kristoff's voice sounded from somewhere in the dungeon, but as the princess looked through the bars of her cell with pain-watered eyes, the square rooms across that she could see lay empty.

"Where are you?" Anna slowly stood, and stretched one arm to the bars of her cell. Her fingers wiggled desperately in the air nearly a foot away from them. "I can't see you!"

The princess's head throbbed from a painful bruise, and a host of other injuries flooded back. Her and Kristoff hadn't seen it coming. They had been sound asleep when a servant had rushed into their chambers, screaming something about people storming the castle, and how they had to leave right now. Terrified, they had tried to escape through the servant's hallways, but the revolutionaries were everywhere. The fleeing pair were found within minutes. The last thing Anna remembered was being beaten into unconsciousness by one of the men.

"Judging from where your voice is coming from," Kristoff said, "you must be in the cell directly to the left of mine. I'm chained to my bed, so I can't really look around much better. Are you hurt?"

"Well, nothing – nothing too serious," Anna said after a moment. Truth be told, her head was bruised and possibly concussed, one of her ribs might be broken, and she had a baker's dozen of other bruises and welts across her body, but she didn't want to worry Kristoff any more than he surely already was.

"Good. Good. God, Anna, what happened?"

"I have no idea," Anna said mournfully. "I mean, Elsa was always telling me that there was some discontent in the court with her proposals, but that would have meant _political_ upset, not…"

"What happened tonight," Kristoff finished.

"Last night, actually. It can be difficult to discern the passage of time in these windowless dungeons, I imagine." Both of the prisoners gasped and tried to locate the source of the voice, but it remained tantalizingly outside of both of their views. It sounded very familiar to Anna, though she couldn't quite tell from where.

"But that's beside the point. You see, I've come here to speak to Anna, mostly. However, you may listen along if you like, Kristoff; I understand that you may find it difficult to ignore."

Namar Sadden slowly walked into Anna's view, and she gasped upon seeing him. "Namar Sadden? But-but, you're…"

"An aide, to the queen? A confidant? Perhaps you might have even considered using the word _friend?_ Perhaps not; it doesn't really matter. Yes, it isI who orchestrated this little revolution. I've been planning it for years, now; it's really quite vindicating to see something so lovely come to fruition. Truly sublime.

"Anyway," Sadden said as he used a key to unlock the door to Anna's cell and stepped inside, "I'm getting away from myself."

Another man entered the cell alongside the Chief Magistrate, a silent man wearing black who frightened Anna. She retreated onto the cell's bed and wrapped her arms defensively around her knees.

"I swear to God, if you lay so much as a finger on my wi –"

"Do not worry, Mister Bjorgmann," Namar Sadden said. "I have no intention of laying hands on your wife. I merely wish to inform her of some… advancements, in my master's plan."

"Your master?" Despite her overwhelming fear, Anna still found it interesting that this man answered to someone else.

"Concern yourself not with names, my dear. What is most important right now is that you listen to me. Alright? Let us begin.

"You are valuable to me because of your relationship to Queen Elsa. You are one of the queen's few loved ones, and the only one that I have been able to capture at the moment. Worry yourself not about the others, we will have them soon. However, while I am concerned mostly with the city itself, my master is far more interested in your sister.

"She is likely returning from Corona as we speak, and will be quite distraught to find her city in such a state. Angry, even. She might try to attack us. As a failsafe to ensure that her reasonable side prevails, we must make sure that the cost of opposition is far too high."

"So you're going to use me as a hostage?" Anna was well aware what the man was dancing around.

"Naturally. Queen Elsa will be far more willing to negotiate like a rational person if her dear sister is on the line. Now don't worry, I think that it is quite unlikely that we will end up having to harm you as a result. I'm sure you know that Elsa can be quite reasonable sometimes."

"You sick bastard," Kristoff spat from his own cell.

"Now, now, young man, you might wish to save your expletives for a moment or two."

"And why the hell is that?" Anna could hear her fiancé struggling against his chains; his voice was strained while he cursed the Chief Magistrate. Valiant, but hopeless nonetheless.

"Because we still need to ask your dear wife a few questions about the queen. You see, my master didn't quite have enough time to learn everything he might have liked about the young woman, but seeing as a possible confrontation with her appears imminent, it behooves us to gather what we might. And of course, dearest Anna knows a great deal about the queen."

"I'm not going to tell you anything," Anna said spitefully, glaring daggers at Namar Sadden.

"Please be reasonable, Anna. There's no need for this to get ugly."

"Go fuck yourself." Anna couldn't remember the last time she had used such a vulgar word, but boy, did she mean it right now.

Namar Sadden sighed. "Very well. I suppose we'll have to use… other methods, of getting the information out of you."

There was the scrape of metal against leather as the man in black removed several sickeningly long needles from a belt replete with the instruments.

"No! You said you wouldn't hurt her! _No!_ " Kristoff screamed, slamming repeatedly against his chains.

"You're quite right, I said that _I_ wouldn't hurt her," Namar Sadden smiled. "But you see, that's where my dear friend here comes in."

Anna frantically tried to scramble somewhere out of reach as the man in black approached, her pulse doubling and then tripling within seconds. Kristoff shouted and pounded against the wall dividing their cells, and in a few moments the noise was joined by the horrific screams of his wife.


	23. Interlude - Hades & Elsa

Author's Note:

Big news, TLD fans! First of all, this interlude marks the 2/3 point through the complete novel! Thank you so much for taking this work into your lives and journeying so far with our beloved characters. Rest assured that there's still plenty to come.

Second of all, I'll be taking two weeks off of regular uploads to TLD (I need some time to plan out Arc Three). However, that doesn't mean I'm taking a two-week hiatus from Fanfiction in general! I'm very excited to announce that next Thursday will see the debut of my very first TLD spin-off, _Finals Week. Finals Week_ , as well as the rest of these spin-offs, will take the form of two-chapter, one-shot short stories that will focus on one character from the fanfiction. _Finals Week_ is all about everyone's favorite magistrate, Odette Marie Novare, back during her college years. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it.

Normal TLD content will resume on April 27th. Now, back to the story!

xxx

Interlude – Hades & Elsa

 _The wizard crafted himself a tensing blade and began to search for an assassin worthy of the task of killing the twelve other wizards._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Undersea Fissure

near Iceland,

January 11th, 1843

Hades was finding it more and more difficult to corporealize on Earth these days. Of course, the Prince of Death had a very long view of time, compared to a mortal; 'these days,' at the moment, referred to the amount of time since that damn Renaissance had come around. With it had come far more skeptics and atheists, and even some non-denominational faiths that had the gall to not believe in a Hell at all.

It was abhorrent. After all, no belief meant no Hades. It was the first rule of godhood.

Some of the other immortals found the lack of faith threatening, but Hades wasn't particularly worried about it yet. Perhaps because he had far more important things to be concerned about. Long before he faded into memory and was forgotten, he would be usurped by a force that threatened all life itself. Best not let that happen.

But, of course, idle thoughts were getting away from him again. Hades was not currently a mile and a half under the sea for no reason at all – quite the opposite, actually. He was here to call upon an old friend.

Explaining in plain language a god's corporeal manifestation is tricky. Hades had a body, to be sure, but one that did not seem to have physical substance. He looked the same as he would in Hell, but an inquiring hand would pass right through his gaseous form. He could move quite quickly, if he liked, and he currently did, jetting through the murky depths, a clear destination in mind as he probed ever deeper into the fissure.

Soon he was moving primarily by the light generated by his flaming head alone. Everything else was darkness and the deep rumbling of a consecutive mile of ocean above him.

This was an ancient, primordial part of the ocean, home to all manner of monsters long forgotten by the modern world. Hades swept past a six-foot long coelacanth as he began the approach to a massive, looming spire in the distance.

Rising out of the sea fissure like a great, black monolith, the spire was lit from below by an active fumarole; the fiery glow of lava boiled at its base, roiling with tectonic energy. The water became devoid of life within five hundred meters of the spire, as if it knew better than to get any closer. But the Prince of Death did just that, guiding his spectral form through the crushing ocean until he came up alongside the tower.

As he began the ascent to its top, Hades kinesthetically became aware that two massive creatures were tracing slow circles about the spire. Were Hades able to make out the massive creatures in the inky darkness, he would see two serpentine eels, each four feet in diameter and longer than a cricket pitch. Though he could not see the massive constrictors, he could certainly hear them. A deep and primordial rumbling moved the very water around the creatures, an unearthly growl that made even the deity uneasy.

But they did not stop him.

Hades reached the top of the spire and approached a door-like opening carved into the stone surface. It was truly a shame that the ocean was simply too black at this depth for the grotesque adornments of the spire to be truly appreciated; about the door, the Prince of Death made out by the flickering of his own light a torrent of souls engraved about the doorway. Damned spirits grasped desperately for a redemption that could not come, swarming over one another in their frenzy to escape.

He passed through the portal.

Almost immediately as Hades crossed the threshold, he heard a smooth voice reverberate through the chamber.

"My dear Hades," simpered the voice as he scanned the room to try and discern its location. "Whatever brings you to my humble little corner of the ocean?"

"Ursula, baby," Hades said, spreading his arms nervously and still trying to find the sea witch. "Do I really need a reason to visit –"

All at once Ursula appeared, moving with startling speed from the shadows of her tower to manifest directly in front of the Prince of Death. She smiled wryly as he flinched away for a moment, and then she swept back a foot or two, her many tentacles swiveling about and excreting an inky blackness into the air about them.

"You need something from me, I presume." The sea witch placed a tubby hand against her chest, still prowling about the deity as she continued, "you only ever come to visit when you _need_ something. It's always about the outcome with men.

"What is it this time, Hades? Surely a god such as yourself has precious little that he can get from a poor little sea creature like _me,_ right?" Hades said nothing, waiting her out with mild annoyance. "Matter of fact, the only thing I've ever really been able to _give_ you is information. But I'm sure you have the good reason not to ask about something as dangerous as this little thing, aren't you?"

Ursula accentuated her question by sweeping in front of Hades again and scooping a brooch from her neck onto the back of one of her hands, dangling the shiny medallion in front of him. Hades frowned deeply and set Ursula cackling. It was inlaid with a spectral blue energy that swirled about the inside in clockwise circles. Though it didn't look like much, it was a soul, the last vestigial remainder of some unfortunate being that Ursula had conned out of it.

"Oh, that's _exactly_ why you're here, isn't it?"

Hades grimaced. He hated being beholden to anyone else, but things were growing desperate. "Yes, Ursula. It is."

"Well, you know the rules, I'm afraid," Ursula affected a pout. "I can't tell _anybody_ about tensing. Even my _favorite_ immortal being."

Hades was annoyed that she had successfully divined his reason for being here so quickly, so he smirked a bit himself as he fired back, "Speaking of immortality, how many lives have you got left, Ursula?"

Ursula stopped moving about him and frowned, visibly annoyed. "I have plenty, trust me."

"Really? Because last I'd heard of you, some kid ran you through with the prow of a ship. I was going to pay a visit to make sure that you were alright, but then I remembered that you have an _inexhaustible_ supply of souls, and something as trivial as that would never bother you."

"Even if I were to run out, Hades, I understand the idiosyncrasies of tensing magic. I can always cull more."

"And there's that… you see, maybe I'm just going out on a limb here, but you've been spending an awful lot of time in your tower these days. Almost as if you _don't_ have multiple souls left, and you're afraid to leave your tower because if you die before you get another, it's all over."

Hades eyed that brooch as he spoke, quite certain indeed that it housed her last soul. He could tell that he'd angered the sea witch, for she swept back into the shadows. The water was still for several moments in which the Prince of Death scanned the edges of the room with glowing yellow eyes. He needed to bait the hook to bring her back.

"If you help me, I can offer you dominion over all of the merfolk's dead. You'd never want for souls again. You'd be immortal."

Despite the silence in the chamber, Hades was sure that she hadn't truly left; at least, he hoped that she hadn't. After a few moments, he heard her again.

"What do you want from me, Hades?"

He thought carefully about how he was supposed to say what he needed to, next.

"How much do you know about Everdark?"

Ursula came again into view, a scowl on her face. "It's an ancient myth. I figured that humans didn't even believe in something so foolish anymore."

Hades considered Ursula for several moments, a deep scowl etched into his face. "I certainly wish that it were a myth."

He extended a hand and spectral red light blossomed into the air, forming a canvas on which white images painted the black water. Cities appeared, and began to crumble in front of the sea witch's eyes, and silhouettes of humans lowering vulture masks onto themselves traced their way into her view.

"Everdark is very real, and it is returning. In less than a year it has broken half of the civilized world, and we have been able to offer meager resistance. Without every bit of assistance we can get, all will be lost."

It seemed to Ursula that Hades wasn't trying to game her. He seemed genuinely scared.

"I'm not sure that I would be much help, Hades."

"I don't need you to fight. At least not yet. But I do need your knowledge of tensing."

"What are you planning on using it for?" Ursula frowned, toying with a strand of her white hair. "What does an immortal get out of multiple lives anyway? Come to think of it, I don't even know what you ever ended up doing with that little tidbit I shared with you all those years ago in the first place."

"You're right. I suppose some explanations are in order."

"That's one way of putting it."

Hades frowned. "Hrm. Well, initially I offered you dominion over any souls that you could capture in return for a cursory knowledge of tensing."

"I remember."

There was indeed a throne, of sorts, built into the wall, and it was upon that stone chair that Ursula now settled, resting a pudgy cheek against her fist. It was how she had gained her supernaturally long life in the first place; Ursula was many hundreds of years old by now, but each time she approached death she consumed another soul and stayed her journey to the afterlife a bit longer.

"What you likely do not know is that Everdark was an expert at the tensing arts. It was most likely the creator of this dark art, and as such it should not surprise you that among the other relics it left behind in my temple were several tensing blades. Before you instructed me in their use, I could not utilize their powers even though I understood what their function must be.

"With your help, I was able to begin using the blades to capture the souls of mortals to use as servants."

To convince the other immortals that he was not attempting to build an army that could challenge their sovereignty, Hades had agreed to keep only one servant at a time. Long ago when he had made this promise, the world was not endangered, and one servant at a time seemed to Hades to be plenty to accomplish the few deeds he needed performed on Earth. The contract had been sealed by powerful magics, and now in desperate times seemed a foolish agreement to the Prince of Death. However, Hades didn't make the rules. He just played by them.

"Of course, you more than anyone else realize that tensing can be used in more ways than just the one."

"What are you trying to do now, Hades?"

"There were many stone tablets left behind in my temple, most of them from Everdark's era. They offer rare glimpses into a past so ancient that much of its detail has faded into antiquity. Many of these tablets depict the God of Darkness and his servants using tensing blades to kill wizards. Sometimes they were used as weapons against its enemies, and sometimes the wizards were sacrifices."

"Sacrifices?"

"Yes. In each of the cases, the tensing blade's user is shown more powerful after its use. Very obviously so; one triptych shows a wizard sacrifice, and in the next section shows the priest who performed the sacrifice destroying a massive boulder with his fists."

"Destroying a boulder? Not exactly how I'd use super strength, if you ask me."

Hades continued onwards, acting as if she hadn't spoken.

"At first, I assumed that the tablets were simply representative of a religious people who believed that their sacrifices granted them ritualistic power. The sort of thing you see in every religion the world over. Penitence grants you strength. The only method of tensing that I was truly familiar with is the process of reinfusing a dead man with his own soul to preserve him in a limbo between life and death. Of course, the fool that I am took far too long to recognize that tensing's other uses could show this to be anything but the case."

Ursula was quick-witted, to be sure, and she understood what Hades was getting after.

"You think that the priests who performed these sacrifices used tensing blades, and afterwards they absorbed the soul of the wizard they killed?"

"That's exactly what I think."

Ursula thought for a moment and then spoke. "I must say, I'm rather embarrassed, Hades. Somehow in all my years I never considered that absorbing the soul of a wizard would confer their magics onto me. I might have gained some inkling of this when I took Triton's soul, but I only possessed it for a short time and didn't really spend much of that ruminating on it. But really, in hindsight it's quite obvious."

Ursula drummed fingers on her lips for a moment. "Even if I do teach you this method, Hades, who exactly are you about to send around killing wizards for you? That's a task easier said than done."

What Ursula described was exactly what Hades was after. He had realized that the stone tablets did not depict ritualistic killings devoid of actual meaning. No; the servants of Everdark were killing these wizards to absorb their souls. To take their power. It all made sense when Hades had realized this; a skilled warrior with the collective power of a dozen different wizards must be unstoppable. Conquering the world must have seemed trivial to Everdark all those millennia ago.

And it would have this time, too, if Hades wasn't determined to build a super soldier of his own. He smiled.

"Don't worry about who," Hades said. "I've got a guy."

xxx

On a ship near Arendelle, Elsa cracked open an eye, frustrated. "How am I supposed to know if this is working?"

The Queen of Arendelle sat on a wooden stool in the creaky belly of their caravel, feeling a bit sick from the ceaseless rocking. She'd had a healthy fear of sea voyages ever since her parents' death, but now was not the time to allow fear to rule her thoughts. Prince Hans sat beside her at the mess table, looking even more haggard than usual. Elsa supposed that she probably didn't look great herself.

"You'll just have to trust yourself, your majesty. You'll know." Truth be told, Hans had no idea if Elsa would ever be able to tell if she was adequately defending herself from a telepath until she met one again. "You'll feel like your entire mind is singularly devoted to one idea. No stray thoughts."

"If that's what I have to be able to do, I'm as good as dead," the queen said bitterly. "I'll never be able to shut up all these voices."

Ever more, recently, Elsa's mind was frantic, frazzled by sensory overloads and constant, heavy stress. She hadn't been eating much and lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling of the ship. They were four days into their journey back to Arendelle; they would arrive sometime after midnight early in the next morning. Elsa barely dared imagine what they might be returning to.

"You have to try, your majesty. If not for yourself, then for your sister. For your people."

"I can't just shut everything out, Hans! How can I sit here and close my thoughts off from the world when the only family I have left in the world might be dying as we speak?"

"With the knowledge that you can't help them right now," Hans said grimly. "No matter how hard you _hope_ that Anna is still alive, it won't save her. The only thing that can help her right now is you being ready to fight another telepath, should we encounter one. If you really care about your sister, you'll damn well make sure that you figure out how to shut things out."

At first, when Hans had prodded the queen like this, he'd gotten a reaction; she'd act annoyed, but she'd take a few deep breaths and start over, ready to try again. This time, she continued to stare at the wall behind Hans.

"What if we're too late?" She said, a hollow sound in her voice. "I never would have left for Corona if I'd have realized what it would mean."

"With all due respect, your majesty, I don't think Everdark cared much whether you were in Arendelle or not when that revolution started. If Anna and her husband are dead right now, then it was lucky you left, because otherwise you'd be dead too. Besides, you helped save hundreds of lives in Corona."

"No I didn't. You did. I almost ruined everything. I almost killed Eugene. I almost killed you."

"We made it to King Frederick in the first place because of you, Elsa. You saved us at the gallows, and we never would have been able to fight our way in without you."

What Elsa said next was probably brought about by her depressive mood; she probably wasn't really thinking about what she was saying. All the same, it chilled Hans to the point that he wasn't sure how to respond.

"If Anna dies, I'll never forgive myself. I'd trade Rapunzel, and Eugene, and all the rest of their nobility for her life in a heartbeat."

Hans was quiet for a long moment before clapping his hands on his knees and standing.

"Keep going over the technique, your majesty. I promise, if you believe in yourself, it will work. I'm going to go speak to the deckhands about bringing us into a port in Anders," he said, referencing a little fishing village less than five leagues from the capital. "We can find a way to sneak into Arendelle from there."

Elsa nodded blankly as Hans excused himself, not really hearing him. Trying to hide her emotions, to push them down and put the gloves back on, was something that she had never, ever, wanted to do again. _Conceal it._ She could hardly believe that the life of her sister might depend on it. _Don't feel it._

 _Don't let it show._


	24. Chapter Twenty-One

Arc Three

Fall from Grace

Chapter Twenty-One

 _I'm terribly scared for Anna. I'd move heaven and earth to keep her safe, and I very well may have to in the coming days. And though I wouldn't admit this to just anyone, I'm worried sick about Odette, too._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Hades's Temple,

The Edge of Hell

January 12th, 1843

"Are you sure that you want to go through with this, wonderboy?" Hades paced around the edge of stone operating table upon which Hans sat. "I mean, I've never had my servants attempt something like this before – there's a million different ways this could go wrong. Many of them kill you."

Hans smiled grimly. "Well, plenty of what I'm doing these days isn't great for my health, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that throwing one more match on the bonfire isn't going to make a difference."

Hades nodded, trying not to seem too eager. He really did fear for Hans's safety during the procedure. Though he didn't often like to admit to affection for anyone, or anything, else, he was proud to call the former prince a friend.

"Good. If all goes well," Hades frowned deeply. "Which it should. If all goes well, soon you'll be in a lot _less_ danger."

Hades had recalled Hans after Ursula had given him the secrets of tensing, and the Prince of Death had shared them with his mortal servant. Hades had planned for this from the start; he envisioned Hans gaining strength with each wizard he killed, eventually accumulating enough power to challenge Everdark itself.

But he hadn't known the specifics. It turned out, unsurprisingly, that the process of taking another's soul required more than just a tensing blade and the will to do it. Ursula had informed Hades that the souls, once taken, resided in a special disk implanted into the body of the wielder of the souls. The implantation of a tensing disk was a process both tricky and convoluted, and Ursula was quite certain that she was the only living creature who still understood the mechanics.

When she had performed the operation on herself as a young necromancer centuries before, the sea witch had nearly died. As such, she had passed rather flimsy details on how to replicate the procedure to Hades.

When Hades told his servant all of this, he offered it full disclosure. Hans was informed of the significant risks associated with the operation, but he was also told of the infinite potential. In the end, Hans was captivated by the allure of becoming a wizard himself. It seemed to hold all the answers.

How else was he supposed to keep up with an inexorable tide of enemies who were stronger, faster, and more lethal than him?

"Let's just get this over with," Hans said, drawing his shirt up over his head and tossing onto the floor beside the table. "I need to get back to the ship before they arrive at Anders."

Hades nodded and snapped his fingers. Three figures seemed to materialize at the edge of the shadows in the room, as if they had been there all along. It was the same three creatures that had removed Hans's heart what felt like ages ago; they had the same masks of gold and lapis lazuli. Hans took a closer look at the masks this time around, and noticed that there was nothing resembling a face engraved in them. The creatures evidently did not need to see, for their funerary masks were formless.

They approached Hans silent as specters, and he felt a moment of involuntary chill before he reminded himself that they were at Hades's command. The former prince laid back onto the stone table; one of the creatures handed him a rolled-up cloth to place underneath his head.

The others began to select from a dazzlingly large array of knives. Hans took a deep breath and gazed up at the ceiling.

"Would you like to see the disk, before we place it inside of you?" Hades said, with just a touch of sarcasm.

"Actually, I would," Hans answered. "Given as it's gonna be part of me, and all, I figure that I might as well get comfortable with it first."

Moments later Hades produced a small disk made of a heavy-looking, dark stone. It was perhaps four inches in diameter and perhaps half an inch tall, and cold to the touch. Hans accepted the disk and turned it over in his hands. It was surprisingly light, which he quickly realized must be because it was hollow. It was surprisingly smooth, as well.

Hans was so occupied gazing at the stone that the cold blade of the first creature's knife split his skin before he realized the knife had touched him. Just like before, there was no pain, but he still felt his breathing grow rapid and forced himself to avoid looking down. He felt more cuts as the surgeons began to make a suitable cavity inside of him. As they did, Hans kept his mind from growing panicked by trying to imagine what the disk would look like after it absorbed a soul.

It was hollow; did that mean that something corporeal would be stored inside? Or were magics at play here that he could not hope to comprehend?

One of the surgeons took the disk back from Hans, and he took a deep breath.

"Ursula implied that this hurts like a bitch, wonderboy, so you might want to might down on this," Hades said, handing the former prince a small wooden cylinder.

He accepted it gratefully and clamped his jaw around it as the true work began.

xxx

The early afternoon that day found an unassuming sloop pull into the wharf at Anders. A port authority came over to inspect the ship as two of its passengers disembarked, the remainder staying behind to collapse the sails and ready the ship for port. Hans stood at the prow, running his hand absently over a series of stitches that traced his stomach.

He had survived. Not only that, the procedure seemed to have worked. At least, nothing bad had happened to him, and his body was behaving normally. Whether it would truly allow him to absorb souls was left to be determined.

Hans was broken from his thoughts as he kinesthetically sensed Elsa approaching from behind. No one, not even the queen, knew that he had been recalled to Hell last night, let alone why. He was planning on telling her, but now didn't seem to be the time.

Hans eyed the boardwalk and saw a port inspector hail them. He raised his hand in response, brow furrowed.

"Let me do the talking," Hans murmured to the queen. "There's a chance, however slim, that people in this town may recognize your voice."

"I've done some speaking in Anders," Elsa agreed. "Just last September I was here telling them about new infrastructure projects that we were going to begin in the town if my budget was approved. I suppose that won't be happening, after all."

Hans heard the bitterness in her voice, and realized with a surprise that he wanted to see Elsa's rule reinstated. His life before death seemed impossibly far away, like he was somehow recalling the past of another man. Hans called out to greet the port inspector as he and Elsa descended the ramp onto the boardwalk.

Elsa pulled the shroud tighter about her head as the port inspector gazed past them at the ship. He fiddled with a ledger, glancing up again at Hans, who clearly appeared to be in a hurry.

"You say that you're shipping sugar, mister…"

"MacDonald," Hans answered, affecting a light, believable Irish lilt that seemed to complement his reddish hair.

"I see. Well, Mr. MacDonald, your papers seem to be in order…" He shuffled them about again. The port inspector glanced over at Elsa, and she was forced to duck away. "Shy one, in' she?"

"Oh, well, you know how women can be," Hans said. "She had a rough night last night and wasn't able to put her face on. You know, seasickness and all."

"Ah. I see. Well, as long as the ship passes inspection, you'll be free to enter Anders, Mr. MacDonald."

Hans's smile froze. "Passes inspection?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Mr. MacDonald, but new orders just came from the capital. Opened the missive not an hour ago, actually. Apparently all that unrest that we've been hearing about these last few days ended up toppling the queen."

Hans was unsure how to respond. "How terrible."

"I don't really care much one way or the other," the port authority said laconically. "A king is a king, and a queen is a queen, but I pay taxes to 'em all the same. Anyway. New orders from Arendelle are that all incoming ships are to be searched for anything that could be considered a threat to the peace and stability of the nation."

Suddenly, the plan to lie and say that they had been shipping sugar seemed very ill-planned. They had initially decided to do so because Arendelle's Office of International Affairs kept track of non-mercantile foreign visitors. (It was simply too much work for a nation whose economy was built upon trade to keep track of all of the trading vessels that it harbored.) It was an old law, held over from the early years of Agnarr's rule when he had nearly been killed by a Balkan assassin. But in hindsight, Elsa realized that even if Sadden had kept the old bureaucracies, it would take him weeks to bring them all under control.

A dozen different considerations passed through Elsa's head, most of them irrational and rather stupid. _Freeze him._ Before she could do anything, Hans coughed and drew two crowns from one of his pockets.

"How about we skip the inspection, seeing as you realize we couldn't possibly be bringing anything dangerous into the country?"

Two crowns was surely a week's pay or more for a port authority, and Elsa saw firsthand the man's sense of duty at war with his avarice. He considered the coins for a few moments before swiping them out of Hans's hand, looking around to make sure that no one was watching.

"You know what, I've decided that it's worth no one's time to have your ship inspected, after all," the port authority said. "Why don't you just both move along."

"Oh, we wouldn't think of taking any more of your time, good sir," Hans said. And off they went.

Once they were out of earshot, Elsa said, "So we'll need to find a discreet way to get back into the capital. I've never really had to travel without the use of a personal carriage before, so if you have any ideas, they're very welcome."

"Surprise, surprise, your majesty, but being raised a prince hasn't exactly made me very streetwise, either. But a strong alibi would seem to be entering town with some sort of tradeable good packed up on a horse-and-cart."

"Do you think we'd be able to find all of that in this little fishing village?" Elsa looked about, dubiously. It would probably take ten minutes to walk from one side of the town to the other.

Hans shrugged. "I suppose that we'd better look."

Just as the pair began to walk down the main causeway, Elsa stopped dead. The former prince followed her gaze and saw a pair of figures at the other end of the street. Nothing seemed particularly interesting about the elderly man and young woman except that they seemed to be attempting to avoid attention. Which was probably normal; Hans imagined there were droves of monarchial loyalists making haste from the city.

"That's Odette and Montaigne," Elsa gasped in a whisper.

"Who?"

"Friends. Come on. Oh, thank God they're safe." Elsa began to briskly walk down the street towards them.

Hans glanced about and nodded to an old man sitting in a rocking chair on his nearby porch. The man considered him for a moment and then nodded back. Hans then hurried to catch up to Elsa and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Slow down. They're not going anywhere, and we don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves than necessary."

Elsa twisted her shoulder to shake his hand away, but all the same she fell into step beside him and walked a more measured pace.

"Also, I thought you were an atheist."

"What? What does that have to do with anything?" Elsa said, confused.

"You just 'thanked God.'"

Elsa snorted. "It's an expression. Like 'gee, I could eat a horse right now.'"

Hans chuckled. They came close enough to the pair that Elsa was able to make eye contact with the young woman. Though Hans had no idea who she was, clearly Elsa did. It seemed that much passed between them in the moment that their eyes met, and then the young lady made an infinitesimal motion towards a pub halfway between the both of them. In a few short moments, they crossed the distance and went inside.

"Well, miss, I can quite honestly say that you are a sight for sore eyes," the elderly gentleman said in an undertone as they stepped into the pub.

The inside was happily busy; they were coming up on noon and a good deal of townsfolk were taking their lunch here. So it was without much ado that our heroes were able to find an empty table towards the back, in between a family of six and an elderly couple. No sooner had they taken their seats than Elsa and Novare began speaking at once, the sum of which was just a babble. They both stopped, and then Elsa started again.

"Thank God you're both safe."

 _There she goes again,_ Hans thought with a smile. He wondered exactly what being an atheist meant to her now that she knew he was in the employ of a god, and that they were both actively trying to defeat another.

"Do either of you know what happened to Anna?" Novare and Montaigne both fell silent. Elsa looked between their faces, her lips slightly parted and her distress palpable.

"We tried to warn them, but the castle was already overrun," Montaigne said solemnly. "However, we have no reason to believe that she or her fiancé are dead. My presumption is that they were captured, and are being held as hostages by Namar Sadden."

Elsa slowly nodded, trying to absorb this information without falling to panic. "Okay. Okay. You're right. They're probably hostages."

"That doesn't make things much simpler, I'm afraid," Hans said, scratching at his beard.

For the first time, Novare and Montaigne really considered the other man at the table. "Who are you, stranger?" The master servant wondered.

"A friend," Elsa answered before anyone else could. She met Hans's eyes, and he nodded gratefully. "A friend."

"We'll need to make our way into Arendelle undetected," Hans continued. "Which, unfortunately, we don't have the best track record of doing."

"Where will you two flee?" Elsa asked the pair.

"We're headed to Fayborough." Novare answered. "Once you're able to restore power in the capital, we'll return."

What went unsaid was the pair's contingency if Elsa was unable to restore authority. In the event that Arendelle was truly lost, they would flee to Paris, where Montaigne would call upon the hospitality of some old friends from his youth. Of course, they both hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

Elsa nodded. "How did you escape the city?"

"We stowed away in the back of an unwitting abettor's horse-and-cart," Montaigne said. "They're checking the papers of everyone that passes through the gates, and we were fortunate enough to choose a man whom the new administration does not have a reason to dislike."

Hans was only paying half an ear to the conversation; the bulk of his attention was roving the pub, keeping an eye on the other patrons. His interest was piqued as he saw a group of uniformed men step into the pub. Perhaps they were just here for lunch. Perhaps not.

They came to the bar and began to speak to the keeper; at this distance Hans could not make out their voices, and their backs were turned to him. He began to grow uneasy as the men did not take seats, the conversation continuing longer than a simple order would.

"I think it's time to get going," Hans said. Elsa followed his gaze and saw the guards pointing over towards the table in their direction.

Hans stood and drew a coin purse, throwing it into the center of the pub. It scattered glimmering crowns all across the floor between the table of our heroes and the guards, and in an instant all of the citizens at nearby tables fell upon the table, scrabbling to retrieve the coins.

"Where do we go?" Elsa said frantically. The door was on the other side of the pub, and no other entrance was in sight.

The back!" Novare answered, already rushing in that direction. "There's always a way for the workers to unload shipments right into the storeroom!"

They rushed into the storeroom began to feel along the darkened walls. Montaigne exclaimed as he found it, throwing the door open. Bright light filtered in, and they escaped through the portal.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

 _The wizard found an assassin named Barsad who was amenable to the task of slaying the other twelve wizards. His faith had bred in him a great distrust of magic, but the wizard deceived him into servitude._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Anders,

Arendelle

January 12th, 1843

As soon as they entered the alleyway behind the little pub, Elsa stopped and grabbed Hans by the sleeve. He whipped about and instantly understood what she was thinking.

"We were detected."

"Yes." Hans tried to urge the queen to keep running, but she remained in place.

"They might have recognized me."

"Likely, they did not, your majesty," Hans said, glancing back at the door they had escaped from and placing a hand on the grip of one of his pistols.

Meanwhile, Novare and Montaigne had stopped at the mouth of the alleyway, turning back to look at the others.

"Come on, Elsa!" Novare said frantically. "We have to get out of here!"

"But there's a chance that they did," Elsa said.

She was right, of course. "Yes," Hans acceded.

"Then I must allow them to capture me," Elsa said to Hans. "You need to go. Make sure that Novare and Montaigne get out of here safely, and then go after Namar Sadden. I'll try to make an escape with Anna and Kristoff. Then I'll come to help you if I can."

"Elsa, this is foolish. Playing by Everdark's rules is no way to guarantee the safety of your sister."

Elsa looked Hans directly in the eyes, and he saw the force of her conviction. "It's the only choice I have."

With that, she turned and ran back into the building.

"Elsa!" Novare shouted, rushing back down the alleyway towards the door. Hans caught her and began to drag her back out of the alleyway, her hands stretching around him until they reached the edge.

"Listen very closely to me right now," Hans said. "We were discovered in that pub. We don't know if Elsa was recognized, but whether or not she was, that's very bad for us. If Namar Sadden thinks that Elsa is coming after him and he's worried about that, he can kill Anna and her husband at a whim. The only situation where Anna's life is in _slightly less_ danger is the one where Elsa gets captured and sent to Namar Sadden himself.

"I still don't think that's a good plan, but I can understand why she wants to take it," Hans said. "And we have to respect that decision."

After a moment or two, Novare nodded amongst the sounds of shouts inside the pub, tear tracks running down her face. The queen had been captured.

"Now let's get you two the hell out of here," Hans said.

xxx

Elsa stood in the center of the pub, her chin held high as the troops – troops that once served her, she was well aware – encircled her. It was with no small amount of discomfort that the queen realized that she knew their captain. His name was Sakarias Ender; he was a few years older than Elsa and before her imprisonment, they had been in the same elite primary school.

"Sakarias." She said, resisting the urge to try and pivot to keep all of the men in sight. "What a pleasant surprise."

Sakarias Ender waved a hand to the other troops as he approached the queen, and they uneasily lowered their weapons. A cursory glance over the captain's shoulders confirmed to Elsa that, during the commotion, most of the pub's patrons had fled. Those that stayed behind huddled in the corners of the room, watching in rapt silence.

"Miss Siguror," Ender nodded. It was strange to hear herself addressed that way, stripped of all formal titles and yet avoiding the first name. "I must admit that I consider your return rather foolish."

"And I might counter that I consider your current choice of allegiance rather foolish."

Ender frowned, a creasing in his forehead. "We had no choice. Lord Sadden gathered every ranking official in the army at Condorcet Square and executed all of the generals. Then he instated some of his own men; I don't know who they are, or where they're from. But he threatened us all."

The soldiers surrounding Elsa looked uneasy that their captain was willing to tell this all to the queen, but they kept their mouths shut. One or two fidgeted nervously.

"Our lives are on the line here, Miss Siguror. I'm sure you understand that."

"Very well. Then take me. I have no desire to kill you all." Elsa proffered her wrists, and after a few tense moments, Ender came over and began to bind them.

"Your sister is alive," he whispered to her, a voice so quiet that Elsa barely heard it herself. "But he is torturing her. He's using her as bait."

Elsa did not respond as Ender stepped away and ordered two soldiers to usher her into the street. She had suspected as much, and she felt a sour taste that she had no choice but to walk right into his trap. But Elsa would not gamble with her sister's life, and there was no other way. So she went with them.

They led her to a black carriage and ushered her inside, two soldiers and Ender stepping in after her. The remaining soldiers stood on the running boards as the carriage began its journey back to the capital. Elsa looked down at the ropes binding her hands and considered her options.

She could almost certainly kill or incapacitate every man in the carriage. However, she was dubious that it would help much. If Namar Sadden was using troops to patrol the perimeter towns, another group of soldiers would find the evidence of her escape within hours. If she hadn't yet managed to free Anna, her sister was as good as dead.

If she allowed the soldiers to lead her to Arendelle, she wasn't certain whether she would be brought straight to Namar Sadden. Elsa imagined that she was probably important enough to stay other duties, but the usurper could also have his own reasons for not seeing to her immediately.

She felt powerless.

However, for the moment, it seemed that she had succeeded in diverting their attention away from Hans. He could still make it into Arendelle undetected. Elsa just had to hope that he was able to help.

xxx

Namar Sadden could feel his own breathing. It was too quick. He was nervous; of course, he had reason to be. Everdark was displeased that Elsa had not yet returned. The God of Darkness was impatient, and as each hour slipped past with no news of the ousted monarch, Sadden felt the noose of his master grow ever tighter.

He heard footsteps. They interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to the present; a knock sounded at the door to his private study. Sadden set aside several sheaves of paper containing orders to be dispersed later during the day and bade the arrival enter. The former Chief Magistrate expected one of his servants, and was fittingly surprised when Charles Vander stepped into the small room.

The oldest of the Magistrates was still a considerable voice in Arendelle's court, and certainly one of the most respected of its citizens. Over seventy, he was tall and quite thin and weathered with age. He adjusted his cravat and nodded to Namar Sadden before taking a seat.

"Charles. What a welcome surprise." Sadden stood, as he often unconsciously did when he was having a conversation with Vander. Though Sadden had been the Chief Magistrate, Vander had the seniority, and it made for an unpleasant power dynamic. Though he wasn't thinking about it, the act of standing afforded Sadden a psychological feeling of superiority over the other man. Looking down on him helped.

"Thank you for having me, Namar. I understand that your schedule is substantially busier now."

If it was meant to bother Sadden, it did. He managed to cover it, smiling fluidly as he responded, "What is on your mind, dear friend?"

"I am a very old man, Namar. Old enough to be your father, and you aren't young yourself." He adjusted his position in the chair across from the Lord Insurgent, crossing one leg over the other at the knee. "And this old man has done quite a bit of thinking these last few days."

"Thinking about what, Charles?" Sadden rung a bell over his right shoulder, calling for a servant to bring them refreshments.

"I was a young man when the Revolution swept through France. I remember the violence. It was horrible."

"What are you trying to say, Charles?" Sadden met his gaze, steadily concealing his anger and jealousy towards the other magistrate. The man who had always held as much sway as he, even though Sadden was the ranking official.

"I fear that those who forget the terrors of the past are doomed to repeat them," Vander said, a wistful smile on his face. "A revolution is not a legitimate transfer of power. It necessarily ends in violence and upheaval."

At that moment, there was a soft knock at the concealed servant's door, and the Lord Insurgent bade them enter. A matronly woman stepped over the threshold holding a tray of tea and crumbly cakes. She set it upon the desk and scurried away, keeping her gaze to the floor as she did, fearful of doing something to invoke her master's wrath. Once she was gone, Sadden leaned across the table and poured a cup of tea, handing it to Vander before preparing one for himself.

"We have secured the city, Charles. There is no more fighting. There may have been a dozen or so casualties, but there will be no more. It is done with."

"I am afraid that you will not be correct," Vander continued. "And my conscience will not allow me to be an accomplice to your new regime, Namar. I am sorry."

Namar Sadden frowned deeply. Much as he didn't give a damn whether Charles Vander stuck around or not, the people loved and trusted him. His presence did much to assuage the fears of those citizens who thought this a hostile takeover. Plus, it wouldn't do him well to lose too many magistrates, and there was no hope of winning Novare over to his side now. It was clear enough that she was loyal to the queen. Namar Sadden was still considering his response when there was another knock at the door.

"Please, Charles, let us discuss this more completely later," the Lord Insurgent said. "Losing your support would be a great loss, and I am quite sure that we can bring you around."

Vander did not look optimistic about the chances of that, but he politely nodded and stood to exit as Namar Sadden came around the table. Sadden placed a hand on his shoulder and walked him to the door, wondering what he would have to do to win back the elderly man's support. Vander was a traditional man, and traditional men in government were lapdogs to monarchy. It wouldn't be easy to convince him that Arendelle was better off now.

Namar Sadden opened the door and saw one of the old palace servants waiting outside. "I will pay a visit to you later, Charles. We will see if there is not some common ground to be had between us."

Vander nodded, shook the former Chief Magistrate's hand and took his leave, stepping around Kai, who stood nervously before Sadden. Kai had been captured during the sacking of the palace and reassigned to the service of the Lord Insurgent. He hadn't liked the prospect of working for the man who had overthrown Elsa, but he'd liked it more than the prospect of death, which was probably what awaited him if he refused.

"Ahem. Your excellency," Kai said, bowing deeply.

"What is it, man?" Sadden seemed annoyed to Kai, which made him gulp.

"Um, excellent news, your excellency," Kai trembled, though he did not consider this excellent news at all. "Captain Ender has arrived, and he says that he has Queen Elsa with him."

Namar Sadden felt audible relief. Using Elsa's sister as bait had worked, after all. "Very good. Where is he now?"

"In the courtyard, your excellency. Will you go to him?"

Would he? Sadden wasn't sure. Perhaps he should consult his master first. Elsa was dangerous, and she would likely be furious. He had learned during Anna's torture that the queen was now quite skilled with her powers, and he didn't exactly want to die with an icicle rammed through his chest. As a matter of fact, he was quite sure that the only reason she had been captured was because she wanted to be. It's not like a couple of ordinary soldiers would have been able to overpower her.

"No. Tell Captain Ender to take her to Whiteveil. Tell him to put her on the second level. I'll be past to speak to her shortly."

"Very good, your excellency." Kai bowed again and scurried away.

Namar Sadden left his study and headed to the Dark Chamber.

xxx

A lone carriage came to a stop before the gates of Arendelle. The driver fidgeted a bit as he looked at the rifles held by the guards. One of them lazily moved his gun to his left shoulder.

"You got the papers to get in, boy?"

Frightened, he shook his head. "No, but my master does." He hopped off the driver's box and stumbled a bit as he made his way over to the cab. One of the soldiers followed him, coming up behind as the boy knocked at the door to the cab.

"Mister Schwinn," the driver said. "The guards need your papers."

The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man wearing spectacles. He fumbled around in his jacket for a moment. The soldier glanced past him and saw no one else in the carriage, though there were several briefcases and a heavy jacket.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, laughing nervously. "I must have put it in my – ah, here it is – breast pocket." He handed over a folded, yellow piece of parchment.

The soldier unfolded it and glanced it over, pretending he could read. In reality, he was just looking for the seal of the new regime. He recognized the red wax bearing the impression of a vulture, and nodded as he handed it back to Schwinn.

"Very well. Move along." He waved his hand, ushering them into the city.

The boy hopped back upon the driver's box and the carriage rolled along.

After they had progressed a few streets into town, Mr. Schwinn glanced over at the jacket beside him. Almost as if it were on cue, at that moment it began to move. Hans Westergaard emerged from underneath it and the rest of the luggage, holding a gun pointed at the other man.

"We're well into the city now, brigand," Schwinn whispered. "Surely you can make your leave."

"I was planning on it," Hans said gruffly. His arm ached from pointing the pistol at Schwinn for the several hours that the journey from Anders to the capital had taken, but he hadn't wanted to take any risks. If he let his guard down and Schwinn tried something heroic and stupid, Hans would have had to kill him. And that wouldn't have helped anyone.

Schwinn sighed as Hans lowered the pistol.

"But I realized that I need to ensure your silence," Hans said. "I've had a few hours to think about how best to do that. I can just pay off your driver; street urchins tend to be loyal to coin alone. But you're already a wealthy man. And you seem like a squealer."

Hans's statement was hardly unfounded; several times during the journey to Arendelle, Schwinn had said that he would see Hans brought to justice for this. Though the merchant could have no possible clue who the former prince was and why he was important, Hans knew that it would be safer to make sure that he couldn't talk.

"N-no, not at all-" the man began, but it was too late.

Hans flipped his pistol about and bashed the side of Schwinn's head, knocking him unconscious. He had contemplated killing the merchant, to be sure, but Hans didn't consider himself an indiscriminate killer. Not yet. Besides, the man would likely be unconscious for a couple of hours, and he only planned on needing a few. Time was exceedingly precious with Elsa captured, and Hans imagined that things got worse for him if he waited.

He rode out the rest of the preplanned trip in silence, plotting his next move. When they came to a rolling halt, Hans stepped out of the carriage and glanced around. Unsurprisingly, he was in front of an office in the business district. The merchant's offices, presumably. Hans turned to the cabbie, who recoiled from him, frightened.

"Easy there, friend."

"Please don't hurt me, sir." The boy squeaked. He couldn't have been more than fourteen.

"I have no intention of doing so," Hans said calmly, trying to ease the kid's fears. The last thing he needed was the driver attracting the attention of anyone on the street. "But I do have some more instructions for you. There's two crowns in it for you, if you take them to heart," Hans said, holding up two glimmering coins.

As expected, at the sight of the crowns the boy's fears melted away. He nodded quickly.

"Our friend here is a bit under the weather," Hans said, knocking twice on the side of the cab. "So I want you to take him downtown. Find a place that sells smelling salts; bring him back."

Hans drew out an extra ten pence for the salts. "When he comes to, tell him that he ate something bad back in Anders, fell into a deep and fitful sleep during the ride over. Everything he can remember since is just a bad dream. Do you understand me?"

The boy nodded again.

"Atta boy." Hans tossed him the coins, closed the door to the carriage, and walked right into the merchant's offices.

He hadn't kept track of the hour very well since he left Anders, but it must have still been business hours as he stepped into the office, because a pretty young secretary looked smilingly up at him as he walked in.

"Welcome back, Mr. Schw-" She cut herself off midsentence. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm expecting my boss back any minute now. Welcome to Schwinn Mercantile and Trade. How can I help you?"

"Hello, young lady. I'm one of the investors with Endelmann-Brachs." Hans was acutely aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing the crimped suit that one would expect an investment banker to be wearing, so he thought quickly. "I've just come from our Paris Branch," he said, smoothly slipping into a soft French accent.

"I've been traveling for the better part of these last two weeks, so I hope you'll excuse my rather rude appearance."

The young secretary shook her head. "Oh. Not at all, Mr..."

"MacDonald," he said, falling back on his earlier alias. Though this time, of course, he was doing the whole French thing, too. He needed to start practicing accents more often. "I figured that I would make a quick drop-in, before the workday's over. Haven't even checked into the Royal yet," he said, referring to the Royal First hotel.

"You said that Mr. Schwinn isn't in right now?"

"No, I'm afraid not," the young woman said, lips pursed.

"Perhaps he got held up at the gates," Hans said easily. "I'm aware that there's a bit of a hubbub with your government right now."

"Yes, I'm terribly sorry about that. It seems to have quieted down now, though."

Hans looked about, affecting a busy investment banker who'd had a long day and didn't want to spend more time waiting around for Mr. Schwinn. "Well, Miss…"

"Louise."

"Miss Louise," he said. "I was sent to review your boss's client list." Keep it simple. Simple is believable. People assume that buzzwords are more believable, but the best lies were the forgettable ones. "Now, uh, I know that it's unprofessional to suggest this, but I've had a long day…"

"You want me to let you look at the lists myself?"

She had cracked so easily. Perhaps she thought he was handsome. It didn't really matter.

"That would be perfect."

She smiled and led him into another room.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Three

Author's Note:

Big news, TLD fans! We've just launched a tumblr page, and you can find us on the site by searching "elspeth20" or "Trials of Light and Darkness Frozen"! You can also pm me for a direct hyperlink. This is a far easier way to create a hub for discussion of the fanfiction than a forum, and as such we're phasing it out. Feel free to head on over to the tumblr for character guides, the stories themselves, and any questions yoiu might have about the story!

Back to the action!

xxx

Chapter Twenty-Three

 _Really, we ought to close Whiteveil down after all, your Majesty. After three tours of the facilities and extensive interviews with released citizens, I can swear up and down to you that it is cruel and unusual punishment._

 _Dan Morris,_

 _formerly Justice Advisor to Queen Elsa_

* * *

Whiteveil Prison,

Arendelle

January 12th, 1843

Elsa looked up at the looming walls of the prison above her. It was whitewashed and desolate, a hellish pinnacle rising out of Arendelle's city skyline. Elsa felt the cold press of a rifle at her back, and she began to walk across the stone courtyard to the prison.

A half-dozen guards stood at the mouth of the building some fifty yards away, and the men leading Elsa over hailed them. She kept her head high, ignoring the nagging sensation that something was bound to go wrong quite soon. After all, surely Namar Sadden wouldn't have her sent to the same prison that he was likely keeping her sister in? Perhaps Anna was being kept somewhere else entirely.

"You've caught her." The man with the fanciest epaulets stepped forward from his group, sneering at Elsa as they approached. "I must say, she hasn't lost one bit of pride. Still damn beautiful, though."

He reached out towards her, placing his forefinger underneath her chin. He had expected her to try to resist or shrink away, but she just smiled. For some reason, it felt like she was taunting him. He felt a flash of annoyance before the queen's skin became cold. Impossibly cold, colder than anything he'd ever touched. In an instant he felt stabbing pain in his hand, like it had been plunged into ice water for minutes on end.

The captain shouted and tore his hand away, swearing savagely. "Fucking bitch." He stepped back and made to spit in her direction, but the saliva froze against his lips. He staggered back, muffled expletives failing to escape his fused mouth.

The guards leading Elsa hurriedly shoved her along. They came to the double doors that entered into the prison, and were admitted without circumstance. It was really quite foolish to have used her powers against the captain. There was far too high a chance that things would have gotten violent, and she would have needed to start hurting people. And the moment that happened, Anna was in more danger.

The came into a piteously lit corridor, illuminated only by windows that could for all the world have served as arrow-slits in a medieval castle, set at intervals of ten feet along the west wall. Elsa was led down a stone corridor lined with cells to her left, but they were all empty. In some senses, this reassured her; while she was queen, Elsa had kept an eye on prison overcrowding levels. If there were empty cells in Whiteveil, it at least implied that the new administration wasn't engaging in mass incarceration.

Which was good, unless that meant they were simply killing scores of people instead.

They ascended a set of spiraling stairs, and as they did Elsa could not help but wonder if Anna wasn't also being held here. If she was, she was tantalizingly close. But Elsa realized that she could not overpower the guards and go try to find her. If Anna was indeed here, surely Elsa's best strategy would be to do exactly that; if she wasn't, and Elsa killed her guards only to waste time scouring the massive prison and come up empty-handed, Namar Sadden would have all the time in the world to kill off Anna wherever else she was.

Elsa wanted to scream. If Everdark had actually cared about taking Corona, then it had surely failed in that endeavor. If, instead, it had merely been trying to lure Elsa away from Arendelle in order to trap her like a mouse, it had been playing this game like a master.

The answer, which the queen did not know for certain but could surmise easily enough, was a bit of both. Everdark was quite certain that, by dominating King Frederick in Corona, it would gain either that city, or Arendelle. It didn't really care which, because it was presumed that either way, it would also gain a powerful spellcaster in the process. Now that it had taken Arendelle, there was only the matter of forcing Elsa into a trap that she couldn't work her way out of.

Which, Elsa had to admit, it had done.

They reached a cell that appeared no different than any of the others, and the soldiers ordered her to stop. She did. They opened the cell's iron door and ushered her inside. It was windowless, and would be pitch-black once the door was closed. Her affectation of cool indifference suddenly began to melt away as one of the soldiers began to close the door behind her. It banged shut just as the queen whipped around to see the last sliver of light disappear.

She was lost to total darkness.

For a few moments, Elsa couldn't hear anything over the sound of rushing blood in her ears. Suddenly all those discussions with her Justice Advisor came rushing back, and all those times that he had called Whiteveil incarceration 'cruel and unusual punishment' felt very real.

 _Calm down,_ the voice inside of her steadied. _You are the master of this situation. If you wanted to, you could probably work your way out of here right now._

She heard the chitter of rats.

In a single movement Elsa's ice shattered her manacles and swept around the room, coating every surface with cold. Her next breath came tangibly in the air in front of her, though she couldn't see it in the darkness. There was no more chittering. Elsa felt her way along the icy wall to the cell's small cot and sat, taking a breath and trying to calm her nerves.

Namar Sadden would come to her. She knew that he would. He had to.

 _What if Everdark does instead? Can it even do that? If it does, will I be ready to defend myself against it? Will its powers even work like a telepath's, or something else entirely?_

 _What if no one comes for me? What if Sakarias lied, and Anna is already dead?_

Elsa's mind was far from quiet as she waited in total darkness.

xxx

Hans glanced over the client list in the other room with Miss Louise standing close by, fidgeting and wondering whether she should interject and try to be helpful. He read the lists quickly, scanning for one client in particular. He had no reason to believe that specifically this merchant would supply anything to Namar Sadden's manor, but it was worth a shot.

Hans smiled as he saw the words he was looking for: _The Estate of the Honorable Chief Magistrate Sadden. Textiles, stationery._

Hans realized full well that he was just one man. An adept fighter, to be sure, but not worth more than a half-dozen men or so. In Corona he had been very lucky to have Elsa with him; she was capable of handling dozens of hostiles with the flick of a wrist, and as such they had been able to wage an all-out attack on the palace. Here things were very different. Without the witch to help him, he would need to rely on deception to make it to Namar Sadden. Violence alone would leave him dead long before he confronted the Lord Insurgent.

So now he had found an alibi to take him to Namar Sadden's manor, and he hoped that it would be good enough. Hans looked up from the manifest at Miss Louise. She raised her eyebrows and stepped away from the wall, and he cleared his throat.

"Well, Miss Louise, everything seems to be in order." He tapped the papers upon the table, made a show of fussing with them a bit more, and handed them back to her. "Of course, there is still business that I must discuss with Mister…"

Hans stopped. He had forgotten the name of the merchant. _Damn._

"…Your employer." He said as smoothly as possible. "But that can wait until tomorrow. Tell the old sport, when he is in, that Harrison will be in to see him in the morning. He'll know me by name."

Though of course none of this was true, it was unlikely to matter. The girl nodded to him as he stepped back through the building, made what he felt was an appropriately professional farewell, and was out the door again. When he came into the street the former prince noticed immediately that the sun was setting over the mountains in the distance, warm on his face despite the January chill. Time was of the essence.

In an age before light rail, the urban commuter had only two real options for his jaunt through a city: he could take a cab or omnibus, or he could walk. Taking a cab would prove difficult for Hans's purposes: drivers often followed main thoroughfares to minimize the chance of being assaulted by footpads, especially at the onset of dusk. Hans wasn't much concerned with muggers, but he needed to take the most direct route to Namar Sadden's manor as possible. And as such, he walked casually until he was out of sight of the mercantile office, and then he broke into a jog.

He could see the building that Elsa had described to him as Namar Sadden's manor on the skyline; it was situated in a very wealthy neighborhood and yet it still rose at least ten feet above any of the nearby buildings. Hans made for it directly, passing through alleyways and over fences along the way.

He had to make it to the manor before dusk; no legitimate business was conducted after nightfall, and he was planning to get into the building on a pretense of just that. He had a stop to make along the way, but he was confident that he would be alright on time. He hadn't spent much time in Arendelle, and when he had it had been during the summer, but if the sun was barely touching the mountaintops then he probably had an hour or more before nightfall. It was not lost on Hans that he should probably have brought a watch.

He made it to a middle-of-the-line haberdashery and, after pausing for a moment to regulate his breath, he stepped inside. The former prince glanced about and saw that the man did indeed have off-the-rack clothing for sale, which was not entirely common but was certainly what he needed. The haberdasher was a portly man who was looking over one of the pairs of trousers, and he glanced up with surprise as Hans entered. It wasn't common to make a sale this late in the day, and the man smiled broadly.

"Welcome, young man! What can I do for you?"

"I need you to sell me a suit, and I need you to do it now," Hans said, drawing several notes from his billfold and handing them over. He knew that he was overpaying by a fairly ludicrous amount, but if it bought him quick service, then so be it.

The man's eyes bulged for just a moment, and then he smoothed his tie and took the bills. "My good sir is rushed, I can see that, and he needn't worry! We will be very quick, yes we will," the haberdasher said as he began rushing around the store, pulling items off shelves.

Hans glanced out of the window at the setting sun. Yes, it would be close, but he would have just enough time.

xxx

Kai heard the impatient knock as he was dusting one of the vases in the foyer, and he looked up with surprise. He pulled a brass watch from his vest and glanced at it. 5:32. Not exactly beyond calling hours, but it was already sunset. The servant straightened his tie and walked over to the door, wondering who it could be. The hour implied that the caller must have a fairly urgent need, or perhaps they were just familiar with the household.

Perhaps Vander had returned to give Namar Sadden a piece of his mind. Too bad the master wasn't in right now; Kai would certainly enjoy seeing him brought down a bit. He puffed his chest and answered the door. A young gentleman with a distinctly commercial air was upon the threshold. His clothes implied that he was working, but certainly not affluent; probably a merchant of some sort.

He also looked incredibly familiar, though Kai couldn't quite tell from where.

"Good evening, sir."

The man's face flashed with something momentarily, but it went away as quickly as it had come. "Good evening yourself, my good man. I am Harrison MacDonald; I work for Schwinn Mercantile. We sell your master textiles and stationery."

"Please come inside, sir." Kai could not help a passing inquiry. "You… look familiar, sir. Have we met?"

Coolly, Hans replied, "I cannot say for certain. I at your master's manor perhaps once a month; it is to my shame that I do not recall if you have answered upon me before, good man."

"Well then, I can say for certain that we have not met, sir, for I only… recently came into the service of my master." Kai kept his voice level. No need to bother this man with his troubles. "I'm afraid that if you are here to call upon the man himself, he is not in at the moment."

This was agreeable to Hans. "Would it be terribly rude to inquire where he is?"

Kai was aware that a servant's discretion should bid him keep quiet, but he didn't care much for Namar Sadden, so he volunteered. "He is at Whiteveil."

"Whiteveil?" Hans feigned surprise, though it didn't, particularly. Elsa was still captured, then. Hopefully she didn't try to fight him there; Hans was fairly certain he could engineer a clean assassination on his own. "How terribly disagreeable."

Hans shifted about in the foyer, his hands in his pockets. He found himself in nearly the same position as before, with Miss Louise. "Well… I shouldn't like to have to return again in the morning…"

"Perhaps, sir, you wouldn't mind waiting for him? My master left several hours ago; we expect him back rather soon."

"That would be excellent."

Kai led Hans into a sitting room just off the foyer and indicated that he could sit at one of the couches. "Would you like me to take your coat, sir?"

Hans made a show of seeming cold. "Actually, good man, I'd rather keep it if it's all the same to you. I can always hail another servant if I change my mind later."

In fact, the former prince's guns were in his coat. He stopped at the threshold of the sitting room and glanced over his shoulder back into the foyer. On the second-floor landing above the grand staircase, he saw a half-dozen soldiers milling about, polishing their rifles. So he had been right to assume that fighting his way in would be foolish. It also reminded him that he might have trouble making it out of the manner later, even if he was successful.

"Of course, sir. Now, I hope you don't mind being left alone for a bit, but I must continue attending to this house."

"Not at all, my good man. Do what you must." Hans glanced over his shoulder at the portly servant's retreating form and took a deep breath. He took stock of his surroundings.

The room was roughly square and perhaps fifteen feet to a side; the hearth dominated a large portion of the far wall and glowed warmly with a proper January fire. Two heavily upholstered couches flanked an ornate coffee table set at about knee height; a wreath of scented pinecones sat in the center of the table. The walls had several mirrors, placed there not for function necessarily, but primarily as a display of wealth.

Hans had grown up inside a king's palace, and even he had to admit that the amount of glass in the room was quite impressive. He walked over to a remarkably well-formed mirror, and quite a large one, too; it was two feet wide and over a foot tall, set in an elegantly wrought gold frame. He placed a hand on his beard and turned his head to the side a bit, examining his face. Over the past few months, his face had grown harder, less youthful. Though he was not yet thirty, his stressful lifestyle was beginning to take its toll on him; crow's feet had begun to appear at the edges of his eyes.

Hans noticed at the edge of his vision in the mirror another servant approaching the room down a side hallway. The former prince returned to one of the couches and made a show of sitting like an impatient businessman, but the servant never entered the room. After he realized that they must have turned into another room, Hans began looking about for something that he could use to kill Namar Sadden silently.

He had, of course, brought his pistols, though that wouldn't do the trick if the house was swarming with soldiers. He had a knife tucked away in one of his boots, though people seemed to be overconfident in their ability to kill someone silently with a knife. Also, killing someone with any kind of edged weapon left an unpleasant mess that would be hard to cover. No, what Hans needed was some sort of…

There.

Hans crossed the room to an arras that probably covered windows looking into the garden. He removed the knife from his boot, carefully looking around to make sure that he wasn't being watched, and sawed off the cord that helped pull them shut. It was thick, and fibrous, but after working with it for a few seconds he managed to unwind a single strand from the rope. He gathered himself a length of perhaps two and a half feet, and then cut it again at the other end. Shoving the remainder of the arras cord behind the curtain, he stood and twined the garrote around his left forearm, ready to use.

Hans glanced back at the door looking into the servant's hallway and saw a young man standing in the doorway. This man was dressed all in black, except for a single, silver ring that he wore on his left hand. Even from this distance, Hans recognized that ring. It was the same one that all the servants of Everdark wore, the same twisted metal band with a vulture's head engraved into it. The man was a wizard.

xxx

Sadden stood outside the door to Elsa's cell while the guard fumbled with the keys. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but the lock is being – stubborn."

There was a final _chunk_ noise as the key turned the lock, and Namar Sadden regarded the man coolly as he swept open the door and scurried away. The Lord Usurper was hit with a wave of cold air, and he stared for a moment at the interior of the cell, which was blasted in a radial pattern with thick ice. It must have been far below freezing inside the cell, yet Elsa sat primly upon the cot, one leg crossed over the other. She raised an eyebrow as she considered Namar Sadden and the two men that he had brought with him.

They were wizards, of course. He only had access to a handful; his master was understandably stingy with the allotment of his most valuable resource. But Namar Sadden took his own safety very seriously, and as such he had brought with him a psion and a shieldheart.

The former Chief Magistrate knew little of the intricacies of magic, but he understood well enough what his companions were able to do. Psions, as they were called, were spellcasters with the ability to fashion any object they could imagine out of energy. Shieldhearts could use their magic to defend themselves and anyone within a certain distance from basically any attack. It had been difficult to secure the use of one from Everdark, as the God of Darkness had lost one in a freak accident in London late last year. The shieldheart beside Sadden was one of the last under Everdark's control.

"Good evening, Miss Siguror." The cell was really quite small, and also bitterly cold, so the Lord Insurgent and his men remained across the threshold.

"Evening, gentlemen." Sadden was somewhat shaken by the cool confidence that the queen exuded. Surely she was aware that with the protection of these wizards, she posed no danger to him? "I imagine that you're here to try and recruit me into your master's service, Namar. That right?"

That was precisely right. Namar Sadden suddenly had the horrible impression that something had changed. That Elsa was somehow one step ahead of him. That she knew something he didn't. _Impossible. I have her sister. I have been torturing her. I have the queen herself. I am in control._

"Suffice it to say that we have much to discuss," Namar Sadden responded.

And Elsa smiled.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

 _Bravery is often conflated with foolishness._

 _Odette Marie Novare_

* * *

Whiteveil Prison,

Arendelle

January 12th, 1843

Less than an hour before Namar Sadden paid his visit to Elsa in her cell at Whiteveil, Anna awoke to the sound of a key in the door of her cell. She was on the ground floor of the prison, and the last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the sound of another prisoner arriving. Now, however, she sat up, frightened. Her heart's hammering betrayed the fact that she was not ready for another day of torture. She had been strong for five days now, parceling out information that sounded useful, but was in fact worthless, to lead Namar Sadden astray.

But she didn't know how much longer she could take it.

She watched with frightened eyes as the door swung open and outlined two dark silhouettes. Anna felt a moment of profound confusion when she heard a woman's voice say in a hushed whisper, "Yes. This is her."

Novare removed a torch from the wall outside the cell and came inside, illuminating her face to the confused and elated princess. "Odette!" Anna said, her own voice raspy from screaming itself hoarse. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you out of here, princess," Novare said with more confidence than she felt. The young magistrate and the man beside her entered the cell, casting a glance over their shoulder into the hallway behind. "This is Owen Rochambeau," Novare said quietly. "He is a friend."

Just hours before in Anders, when Hans had made a cover for Novare and Montaigne to escape, she had been torn. On one hand, she wanted to get out of here. She had seen the killing, and she was more afraid than she could ever remember being. But on the other, Novare knew that she had a friend to call upon. Owen Rochambeau was a friend from her college days; he had initially planned for a life of academia, but after his mandatory term of service he hadn't accepted the discharge from Arendelle's military. Turned out, he didn't mind the armed forces.

Of course, that had been before this debacle started. Just two days before, Owen had seen his commanding officer killed before his eyes, replaced with a puppet of the new regime. He'd been asked to do terrible things, and he was running out of excuses to avoid them. He'd been considering a grand, yet foolish, heroic feat before Novare had showed up on his beat this afternoon, and the fact that she was asking exactly that from him only solidified his resolve.

"Yes, princess. We're going to get you out of here," Owen whispered, deftly applying a key to the manacles that chained her to the bed.

In the wan torchlight that illuminated Anna, Novare could see that the princess looked terrible. Her exposed skin was covered in swollen red pinpricks, caked with dried blood. She also bore the welts of several beatings. Novare gulped and felt a furious shame that she hadn't tried to help Anna escape sooner. Of course, Novare had remembered Owen as soon as Anna was captured. She had almost convinced herself that she would go to him the night of the revolution, that bloody night she and Montaigne had spent in the house of Chauncey's cousin.

But she hadn't done it. She'd been afraid. Terrified. Novare was an academic, not some kind of fighter like Elsa or her red-bearded friend. She wasn't ready for life-and-death struggles against the kind of men who would shoot you without a second thought. She wasn't ready to die, not this young.

At least, she hadn't been. For many weeks now, all Novare's friends and loved ones kept proving themselves heroes, and she felt that it was about time she did her share. Novare would free Anna, or die trying.

"Come now, princess. We will free your husband and then make our escape," Owen said, removing the now-unlocked manacle from Anna's ankle.

Novare helped Anna drape an arm over her shoulder and then stood, supporting the princess's slight frame. She felt ethereally light, also; it was clear that Anna hadn't been fed much. As they ambled into the hallway, Owen already working at the door to Kristoff's cell, Anna moved her head weakly and pressed her face to Novare's neck. The young magistrate realized only after a moment that Anna was weakly trying to kiss it.

"God bless you," the princess said, her voice weak.

Novare felt her eyes sting, and she simply nodded.

Owen entered Kristoff's cell and performed the same operations; in less than a minute he and the royal consort stepped back into the hallway. Kristoff, in stark contrast to his wife, appeared totally uninjured. Weak from days of malnourishment, yes, but not tortured.

"Anna!" Kristoff exclaimed, rushing over to his wife and stopping just short, afraid that if he touched her too roughly he would hurt her more.

"Please, try to be quiet," Novare whispered as Kristoff gently cupped his fiancé's face in his hands. Tears welled at the edge of his eyes and he blinked them away.

"K-Kristoff…" Anna mumbled before fading into an unconscious stupor.

Her husband-to-be looked about the darkened hallways, clearly disoriented. "Which way is out?" He wondered quietly. "We need to get out of here."

"This way," Owen said, nodding to the side. "The guard will not change for at least a half-hour longer."

Novare helped Kristoff take Anna's weight and then nodded to Owen. As she turned to go the other way, Kristoff frowned. "Where is she going?"

"To find Elsa," Novare said, smothering her minor irritation that Kristoff asked Owen rather than address her directly. "Owen will lead you both to safety. Don't wait for me."

"But that's insane! This prison must be crawling with guards –"

"It is," Owen said tersely. "Which is exactly why we must leave. Now." He looked past Kristoff's broad shoulders and tossed a keyring to Novare, who picked it out of the air and slid it into one of her pockets.

Kristoff glanced back at Novare again, but she hadn't waited. She was already turning the corner in the other direction, off to find the queen.

"Come on," Owen said. "We have to go."

Kristoff tore his gaze away, and, adjusting his position to better move with Anna, the cumbersome trio began their flight from Whiteveil.

xxx

Novare knew that Elsa was on the second floor, if Owen's knowledge was to be trusted. And it had not yet led them astray, so she was content to keep trusting it. She came to a spiral staircase set at the corner of the prison and came to a dead stop. She heard footsteps from above. Guards descending the steps.

She was in the intersection of two hallways, with the staircase directly in front of her; to each of her sides the prison offered no place to conceal herself. So she began to descend the staircase, following the route that would lead her into the dungeon if followed. Novare took ten steps down and then turned to look back up the stairs; she heard the men much louder now and also heard voices. She was no longer in view of the landing, however.

 _What if they don't stop on the first floor? What if they're headed to the basement?_ Novare felt a wave of panic as she heard the men's voices on the landing.

"Alright, Gordon, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Make sure that you check the iron maiden," Gordon said. "Klepper told me that we might end up using it on some of the monarchist prisoners."

"Is he serious?"

"Sounded like it."

"Jesus." Novare could almost see the other man rubbing his mouth. "Probably hasn't been used since King Agnarr's days, I'd reckon. Son of a bitch is probably rusted through. But orders are orders, I suppose."

"You got that right." Novare heard Gordon's footsteps begin to retreat, and she realized that the other man was going to start descending to the dungeon. "Anyway. See you, Rooney."

Rooney started coming down the steps towards Novare. She began backing down the steps away from him, keeping the man out of sight as she fumbled on her person for something, anything, that she could use as a weapon. She removed the hairpin from her bun and lamented that she hadn't gone with the thick one this morning; as she did so, she slipped slightly and made a noise.

"What the hell?" Rooney started down the steps faster now, coming around the corner and seeing her. He was a tall man, overweight and middle-aged. His shoulders were chronically stooped, giving him a disheveled appearance. Rooney barely had time to express his surprise at stumbling upon a young woman in the stairwell before she leapt towards him.

Novare had never fought another human, but she was intelligent enough to understand that there were certain critical regions to target. So she rushed up the seven stairs separating them and threw her shoulder into the man's genitals, throwing him backwards onto the stairs above her. She had knocked the breath out of him, which was quite lucky, since he couldn't cry out. Novare stumbled over his body as he grasped at this crotch and twisted the hair pin around in her hand, ramming it into one of his eyes.

Rooney's body lashed violently in response to this, throwing Novare roughly against the wall and winding her. He grasped now at his face, convulsing silently as his hands grew red about his eye. Novare was horrified but felt her body continue to move efficiently, shoving his head up against the stone wall and then kicking it, hard. There was a dull thump and Rooney's body relaxed, sliding down a few steps before it came to halt.

Chest heaving with exertion, Novare watched the body for a few moments. The man's chest was moving. He was alive, though he was probably concussed and his right eye was gone. The hairpin stuck out of his skull, surrounded by blood and a strange, oozing fluid that Novare gathered to be the membrane that was once his right eye. She forced herself to look away and fight down the bile rising in her throat. After a few more breaths, Novare started up the stairs once more.

 _That man sounded innocent,_ a voice inside her head told her. _If you had appealed to his sense of ration you wouldn't have needed to hurt him._ Novare grimaced, hating herself for having these thoughts. Of course talking might have helped. It also might have gotten her killed. If Namar Sadden learned that she had been attempting a jailbreak, it might have gotten the others killed, too. Rooney had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now was not the time to bemoan that.

Novare came onto the second floor of Whiteveil, and was unsurprised to find it much like the first. The same passageways that stretched endlessly in either direction, the same wan torchlight and arrow-slits casting everything in an unforgiving dusk. Aside from being able to tell her that Elsa was on the second floor, Owen hadn't known anything about the cell where Elsa was being kept. So Novare would have to find the queen herself.

She took a deep breath, and got to work.

xxx

After just a few minutes of searching, Novare was able to gather a few things. First of all, it seemed that this floor was lightly patrolled at best. She imagined that in peacetime there would be a few soldiers on every floor of the prison at all times, but in the current state of emergency within the city, Namar Sadden's soldiers must be stretched thin. Guards on the maximum-security level of Whiteveil seemed like a logical place to trim into; after all, there was no escape to be had from solitary confinement.

Second of all, there were only twelve cells on this entire floor. Whiteveil's second level had been designed to test wills and break spirits. The cells were spaced more than thirty feet apart, such that no prisoner in solitary confinement would be close enough to any other prisoner to hear each other. There were no windows on the cell doors, and no other way for light to enter the individual cells. So they were zero-stimulus chambers: no light, no sound. Novare wondered how long it took for a prisoner to go mad.

And third, most of the cells were not in use, their doors hanging slightly ajar. Novare remembered hearing Elsa mention that her administration was trying to end solitary incarceration due to its cruel and unusual nature, and it seemed that Namar Sadden hadn't had much reason to start populating the cells. Not yet, at least.

So after these few minutes Novare came to the door that she had determined to be Elsa's. She took a deep breath, and put her key into the lock. She did not have the keyring of a mere prison guard; they would not have the keys to individual cells in the solitary confinement block. Neither did she, for that matter; Owen had given her a skeleton key that he had managed to lift from his commanding officer. Yet again, Novare winced at the considerable danger that she had put her friend into. But there was no stepping back now.

The lock clunked, and Novare pushed the door open slowly. Immediately she noticed the frigid air inside the cell; it hit her like a wave. Novare retrieved a torch from the wall nearby and stepped into the cell, shining her light upon a small, stone cot, and seated upon it, the former Queen of Arendelle. Elsa's face registered shock upon seeing Novare, her mouth hanging slightly ajar.

"It's time to get out of here, Elsa," Novare whispered.

"What… what are you doing here?" Elsa said.

"I couldn't stand by and keep watching everyone that I care about put themselves on the line for my sake. It's about time I started putting my share in."

Elsa stared. Of all the things she might have expected to happen today, this wasn't one of them.

"Your sister and her fiancé are safe as well," Novare said hurriedly. "I have a friend Arendelle's army; he was able to break them free. All that's left is for you to escape."

"Anna's free?" Elsa stood up, her mind rushing to get back up to speed after the initial shock of seeing her friend here.

"Yes. Free as a bird. She's been injured, but it's nothing too serious." Novare glanced over her shoulder again, worried that her voice might be carrying too far, but in her excitement, it was hard to keep it down.

"Oh, thank God," Elsa said, throwing her arms around the young Magistrate and squeezing her tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she murmured, feeling tension drain from her body like a decanter.

Novare wanted to tell the queen that her body was freezing cold, but she decided not to make a point of it. After a moment, Elsa extricated herself from the girl's arms and looked past her, into the hallway. The queen's mind was whirling.

She had grown quite certain that Namar Sadden would come to her. During her three-year tenure as queen, Elsa had certainly gotten to know her Chief Magistrate better than any of the others. Though she hadn't guessed that he would betray her, Elsa had certainly been well aware of the man's ambition and pride. Elsa knew that he was too proud to claim an illegitimate rule of Arendelle. He would be eaten alive by the knowledge that the populace considered himself a usurper.

As long as Elsa was alive, that was all he could be. A usurper. So Namar Sadden would come to her. He needed to eliminate her to ensure a consolidated throne. The populace would grumble for a time about how things used to be, but eventually they would move on. Eventually, Namar Sadden would just be 'King Sadden,' and that's all the populace would think about the matter.

If Elsa left the prison with Novare, Sadden would arrive to find an empty prison. Empty of Elsa, empty of Anna. He would be scared, no doubt. He would instantly realize that he was losing this little game, and he would make desperate plays to try to make a comeback. Elsa wondered if the man had qualms with mass killings. She knew that, under the grip of Everdark, King Frederick had done horrible things, so she should expect the same from her former Chief Magistrate.

No. She needed Namar Sadden to believe that he had the upper hand until it was too late.

"I have to stay, Odette." Elsa looked at the wall past her friend, not really seeing it.

"What?" Novare stopped, sure that she hadn't heard the queen correctly.

"I have to stay." Elsa spent a few moments briefly explaining her plan to Novare.

"But Elsa, he's not going to come to you unprotected! He'll bring wizards, if he has access to them –"

"I know," Elsa said, gently cutting Novare off. "And I'll have to try to fight them. I'm not going to allow a power-mad tyrant to kill _my people_ in scores because he's afraid that I might be able to best him."

"But Elsa-"

"The odds aren't going to get any better, Odette," Elsa said. She knew that Novare would have to accept this, but it was a bitter pill to swallow. "It doesn't matter whether I choose to fight Namar Sadden now, or later, he's always going to have the upper hand. The only difference is that if I fight him now, less people get killed in the meantime. We're always going to be outnumbered in this fight, Odette. The good guys always are."

Novare nodded slowly, tear tracks making stains on her cheeks. "But I'm scared for you," she said softly.

"Don't be," Elsa replied, forcing a smile that she didn't feel herself, cupping the girl's face in her hands. "People tend to underestimate me."

Novare closed her eyes, and their lips touched. It was an awkward kiss, the kind that came from a lack of practice on Elsa's side, and stained by tears on Novare's. But it still felt electric to both of them.

Elsa pulled away after a few lovely seconds and looked into Novare's eyes. She wanted to say a lot of things, but all that she eventually managed was, "You need to go. Get somewhere safe."

Novare slowly nodded, almost as if she was coming out of a daze. "Be careful, Elsa."

And in another moment, she was gone, the door to the cell slowly closing and locking again. Elsa was plunged into darkness, left only to wait until Namar Sadden arrived.

He did not make her wait long.

xxx

Hans hit the floor, rolling fluidly into cover beside the couch. In the same moment, he resurrected all of his defenses against a telepath, blocking out his thoughts with nonsense, leaving behind the ability to fight mostly by instinct. The wizard was also moving, fanning along the side of the room, doing something with his hands that Hans couldn't see. The former prince prowled around the back of the couch, keeping the wizard out of sight while he drew the knife from his boot again.

He could not resort to his pistols – they would create far too large a commotion, and Hans could only best so many fighters at once. He was also in quite a bit of trouble if the wizard simply started yelling for help, which meant that he needed to rely on the man's overconfidence to dispatch him quickly. After he heard the man murmuring soft incantations to himself, Hans dropped his mental wards; the wizard did not seem to be a telepath. He now crouched with his back to the couch, having made a half-revolution around the room opposite the man. His mind racing, Hans considered his position.

He had no idea what this wizard's abilities were. The wizard didn't seem to be an elementalist like Elsa, because the man hadn't started spreading ice or fire or something else around the room. He also wasn't a telepath. The only other wizard Hans had ever encountered was the one back in London, the man who was able to protect himself with his mind. If this wizard had the same power, Hans might be in trouble; he had no way to break the wizard's guard.

The longer Hans waited, the worse things got; every passing moment made it more likely that the dueling pair were discovered by reinforcements. Rushing it was, then.

Hans slung himself over the couch and landed on top of the little coffee table, which groaned but stood firm under the impact. The wizard was mere feet away and stumbled backwards, lashing both of his arms towards Hans. The room came alive and started throwing itself at the former prince.

A mirror hit him in the shoulder and shattered against him, slashing his arm and neck. A chair struck him from the other side, knocking him to his knees and taking his breath away. A vase cracked against the back of his skull, and he saw stars. Hans rolled off of the table after the initial onslaught, throwing himself to the floor as objects whizzed through the air about him. He landed on the same shoulder the mirror had struck, and he grunted as shards of glass were pushed deeper into his arm. Not for the first time, Hans wondered when he would get the hang of fighting wizards.

The former prince lunged at the wizard, coming up from the floor and slashing the air in front of himself with his knife. The wizard backpedaled away lightly, flicking his wrist and shouting some word of magic. Hans's own knife stayed in the air as if an invisible hand had grasped it. He struggled against the force as it slowly turned his knife around and began to force it towards his chest. The force was overwhelmingly powerful, and Hans's arms began to shake violently with the force of fighting the knife away from himself. Any moment he would slip and impale himself.

Hans threw himself to the side as hard as he could, just as he let go of the knife. It slashed his arm glancingly as it whizzed past, spraying blood through the air. The same chair flung itself at Hans again and he dove for the floor; it shattered against the wall and rained upon him. Hans was injured, the fight was going poorly, and he was aware that the wizard was making a lot of noise.

 _It's gonna be a long fucking night._

Hans rolled across the floor and sprung up next to the telekinetic, driving a fist into the man's gut even as a lamp tore itself free of the wall and struck the side of Hans's head. Both men slammed into the wall, the wizard struggling to throw Hans off. The former prince rapidly landed three punches to man's face, breaking his jaw and knocking out a few teeth. Then Hans locked an arm around the man's neck and whirled about, shoving the wizard into the path of a candlestick, launched from the room's corner.

The candlestick struck the wizard in the jaw and twisted his head sickeningly; his neck snapped with an audible crunch. Immediately there was a bang as several floating objects hit the ground, and Hans released the body, panting heavily. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his lower back, far worse than the rest of his aching body. He turned his neck to glance down his back and saw a thick shard of porcelain protruding from his skin, staining the new coat he wore a ruddy brown.

 _Shit,_ he thought, breaking the shard at its base and leaving the base buried in his flesh. He'd have to remember that later. He glanced next at his shoulder and removed the larger chunks of glass one by one; these wounds were far shallower than the one in his lower back and he wasn't worried about bleeding out from them.

Hans heard the shouts of approaching soldiers and smiled grimly. _There's just no rest for the wicked, is there?_

The former prince drew his pistols and met them in the breach.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Five

Author's Note:

Many apologies if there are any grammatical errors left in this chapter; I didn't have time for an extensive proofread this week. Any that get pointed out to me will be edited. Thanks!

xxx

Chapter Twenty-Five

 _Barsad killed the wizard Damascus first, an ancient man with the wisdom of a great many generations. He was unready to defend himself against the ruthlessness of the wizard-slayer._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Whiteveil Prison,

Arendelle

January 12th, 1843

"I have you right where I want you, Elsa. You are outnumbered, and trapped. Your sister is under my control. Her life hangs on my whim. And yet you smile." Namar Sadden gazed upon the queen with open contempt, trying to read her face. If only Everdark had given him a telepath. "Why do you smile, Elsa?"

Elsa considered the two men flanking the Lord Insurgent. They had the same lifeless eyes that King Frederick had borne in Corona; they were dominated. She did not know what their capabilities were, but she was aware that the confidence she was projecting was likely misplaced. While she was no doubt a powerful sorceress, she had very little practice in using her power as a weapon. It was mostly uncontrolled impulse that guided her actions during a fight. On the other hand, these wizards had been trained specifically to be killers by Everdark. Not only was she outnumbered, she was out-skilled.

Best not to fight long, then.

"I smile because I admire your cleverness, Namar. You have truly bested me." Elsa crossed her arms, affecting nonchalance, though in fact her muscles tensed and twitched. She felt her hands growing cold.

"Surely you jest, Elsa. Your kingdom is taken. You, and everyone you love, is mine. This is no reason to smile." Namar Sadden's voice gained an edge as he said, "What do you think you know?"

"I know that you will fail, Namar. You will fail because you fight only for greed and power, and your wizards fight only because they cannot control themselves. I fight for the people I love, and this country that I call home. You cannot win."

Namar Sadden's jaw tightened. "Kill her," he said curtly.

The psion drew a sword of energy from thin air and lunged towards Elsa. She had no time to react consciously, but pure instinct summoned a sheet of ice in front of herself, catching the psion's blade and earning a deep gash. Elsa stepped towards the back of the cell as the psion drew a hammer out of midair with his other hand and smashed the wall of ice, shattering it into jagged chunks across the floor.

Elsa swept her arm and a wave of ice swept outwards towards her foes, but it dissipated harmlessly into the air before them. The shieldheart was hard at work, his face contorted by exertion as he turned her attack away harmlessly. Elsa was forced onto the defensive as the psion forced his way towards her, swinging sword and hammer in wide arcs. She caught his weapons on steely ice once, twice, three times in rapid succession, but it would not hold. The pison's reflexes were faster than hers, and it was only a matter of time before she slipped up. Her mind was entirely focused on deflecting his attacks.

Her back hit the wall. She had nowhere left to go. Elsa ducked to the side as the Psion's hammer struck the wall; the energy weapon hit the stone wall like a bomb. Shards of rock exploded everywhere, lacerating Elsa's shoulder and neck. She swore and stumbled away, turning to look at the door, with the concentrating shieldheart and the smug Namar Sadden. The tiny portal felt impossibly far away, trapped on the other side of the room with the murderous psion. She needed to get out of here.

Elsa threw a bolt of ice at the psion, but again it dissipated against an illusory barrier before it touched him. The man grinned as he slung the hammer at her, rushing along behind it and drawing a fresh one from the air while he ran. Elsa turned the floor beneath her to ice and skidded out of his path; the man and his hammer struck the wall, again sending stone splinters towards the queen.

She summoned a barrier to catch the shards and whirled to throw a massive shard of ice at the doorway. Or, rather, the same wall that the doorway shared, but far enough away that she hoped the shieldheart would not be able to stop it. She was right. The ice struck the wall with crushing force, destroying an area of perhaps five feet on the wall, leaving a gaping hole in its place. Elsa dashed forwards and rolled sideways through the hole, slinging several bolts of ice at the shieldheart to distract him.

She landed and twisted again, throwing another shard at one of the arrow-slits. It plowed through the stone wall, widening the tiny window to a yawning gap. Just as the psion burst from her cell, Elsa ran and leapt through the gap into the open air. She looked down and saw the snowy ground dizzyingly far below; the queen tumbled for a space of perhaps twenty feet before she was able to summon a path of ice beneath her feet.

Her feet struck the path with a crunch and she began to skate along, frantically working to keep the path going ahead of her while she wobbled and caught her balance. Elsa curled the path tightly around to look back towards the wall of the prison and saw the psion standing before the hole in the wall. He held a bow made of brilliant white light, and he was tracking he movements with an arrow of energy.

The wizard fired at her, and though Elsa instinctively formed a sheet of ice in front of herself, the arrow rammed through it, striking her in the shoulder. Elsa felt the thud and immediately twisted sideways under the force of the impact, falling off of her icy pathway and plummeting towards the ground. The psion calmly dismissed his bow and drew a grappling hook; he twisted and slammed it into the wall of the prison and stepped into midair, sliding down the side of the building after the queen.

Elsa struck the ground, hard. She landed roughly on the same arm that got shot, and she felt it break in several places with a series of cracks. Seeing stars, she shakily dragged herself up with her other arm just as the psion touched the ground. Elsa stumbled backwards, pedaling away from the psion as he calmly began to stride across the courtyard towards her, returning to the sword and hammer that he had favored earlier.

Elsa was dripping blood onto the ground, leaving a red trace in the snow as she put distance between herself and the cocky psion. She heard shouts from behind and groaned, turning to see several soldiers at the other side of the prison courtyard, ordering her to stop. Elsa squeezed her usable hand into a fist, and a great swirl of ice leapt from the ground about the men, rapidly consuming their bodies in an icy tomb. In a few seconds, they were totally encased and left to asphyxiate.

Elsa was nearing one of Whiteveil's massive walls now, and to her dismay she realized that she was again being pinned into a corner. She looked past the approaching psion to the walls of the prison and saw the shieldheart standing at the hole on the second floor; with a start Elsa realized that he didn't have a way to get down. Surely he could make a sprint for the steps and make his way to the courtyard that way, but it would likely take longer than this fight had left to live.

Elsa knew only that which she had gathered during the short fight in the cell about the shieldheart. She was aware had been using his magic to protect Namar Sadden, the psion, and himself, but she had no idea whether the wizard's power had a range. On one hand, if the shieldheart could not protect the psion from this distance, Elsa didn't think the psion would be chasing her so recklessly. But on the other, Elsa realized there probably wasn't another way that she could win this fight.

Maybe the psion was overconfident in his ability to best a wounded young woman, when he was clearly in top physical form. Maybe he underestimated her because hadn't engaged her without the shieldheart to protect him. Maybe he hadn't ever fought an elementalist before. Elsa didn't think that she had much of a choice but to hope that one of these was true.

Elsa abruptly tripped, collapsing backwards unceremoniously, and painfully, onto her wounded arm. _Maybe I shouldn't sell it_ too _hard,_ she thought with a grimace.

But it worked. Seeing her fall, the psion laughed and broke into a run towards her, closing the distance between them with startling alacrity. Elsa feigned weakness as she threw a pair of halfhearted, poorly-aimed bolts of ice at the advancing wizard. One struck his arm, but did little damage; the other missed entirely. He came so close that Elsa could make out the individual links of mail in his armored shirt, so close that she could see the muscles of his arms go taut as he swung his weapons at her.

Elsa threw a single bolt of ice through his heart. The psion's face registered surprise as the magic struck his chest, slicing through the mail of his shirt and his flesh beyond. He stopped mid-swing and stumbled backwards half a step, looking down with disbelief at the two-foot long icicle rammed into his chest. Elsa shakily dragged herself to her feet once more, trading positions with the other wizard as he fell to his knees, his weapons flickering once and then disappearing, becoming insubstantial once more.

The wizard coughed blood onto the snow between them, startlingly red against pure white. His breath came raggedly now, in gasps, and he clutched at the icicle as he slipped slowly onto the ground, lying flat now and draining slowly away.

Elsa gazed upon the dying man with disdain and turned her gaze back to the prison, but she could no longer make out anything from this distance. The sun had sunk below the horizon, and it was night. She glanced around the darkened courtyard and saw no more soldiers; it seemed that after the first dispatch had been killed so quickly, the others lost resolve. At the very least, she was alone now.

The former Queen of Arendelle looked at her arm. It was bleeding from several gashes and there was a compound fracture; she could see part of her bone protruding from the flesh near her elbow. She waved her hand over the wounds and formed an icy scab, running the length of her arm and quelling the bleeding until it could receive attention. Almost as soon as she finished, Elsa heard the crack of a gunshot, and a snowbank beside her exploded with the impact.

The queen whirled and saw a series of muzzle flashes along the prison's wall; she threw a shield of ice in front of herself just in time to catch a half-dozen bullets against it. Spiderweb cracks spread across the barrier, and the men began their reload.

 _Of course they wouldn't send more soldiers into the courtyard,_ Elsa thought, cursing now her own cockiness. _They'd sit back where I can't get to them and shoot at me._

More gunshots sounded around the wall, and suddenly a barrage of bullets was hailing down upon the queen from every angle. Elsa swore, realizing that she couldn't stay, couldn't even go after Namar Sadden anymore. She began to run, creating herself a path of ice that led up into the air and falling into a skating rhythm as the snipers tried to track her movements.

Elsa felt something whizz past her, so close that she felt the heat against her cheek. She sped up, skating as fast as she could, forging herself a pathway up and over one of the walls. From there, Elsa was confident that she could make an escape into the city. She could gather her wits, maybe regroup with Hans. Another bullet just missed her, but the guards were too late.

Elsa reached the wall and stepped off of her own path onto it, rushing across the five feet of stone and leaping over the other side, tumbling for a moment before picking up the path again and skating into the city. Once she was out of view of the prison walls, Elsa touched down and began to walk quickly, wondering where she could go.

The queen remembered hearing some of the guards talking amongst themselves while they escorted her to Whiteveil, and they had mentioned that Bishop Clement wasn't yet captured. That he was still in hiding somewhere in the city. Which meant that there was a sanctuary out there somewhere. Elsa just had to find it.

xxx

Hans slammed his back to the doorway and whirled about, crouching as he did to duck into the hallway below the shoulder line. He fired four times in rapid succession at the dozen oncoming soldiers, felling three and hitting one twice. _Dammit._ Bullets whizzed over his head and shoulders, the men having aimed for a standing man's heart and head. Hans whipped back into the room and holstered his pistols, drawing his rapiers and stepping away from the doorway just as the men began to flood in.

Hans sprinted towards the first soldier, closing to a fray as fast as possible. His only hope was to turn this into a swordfight; if any of the men could get a pistol on him, he was dead. Hans met the first man and crossed blades, leaping forwards and forcing his shoulder into the man, sending them both into the mess of soldiers. The former prince swung about himself in two wide arcs, disarming one guard and injuring another.

Parrying one attack over his shoulder, Hans rammed his sword into the chest of the disarmed guard. He then stepped to meet that man and swung around, shoving him into a scrum of blades. Hans broke and rolled across the room, keeping behind the room's couch and then dashing into the cover of the servant's doorway. He ran down the hallway, hearing gunfire splinter wooden boards behind him.

Hans sprinted along the passage, ducking into a doorway at random. He came into another sitting room, much like the now-destroyed one he had left. Hans leapt over a sofa and landed on the other side, returning to his pistols just as the soldiers reached the doorway. He had four more shots in each pistol, and he went through them quickly as he shot the men. The revolvers clicked empty after a few short seconds, and three remaining soldiers flanked into the room.

Two carried sabers, but the third had a gun. It was a traditional flintlock pistol with only one charge, so as Hans ducked behind the sofa, he was unsurprised that the man didn't try to shoot him through the couch. It wouldn't provide much defense against a bullet, to be sure; however, it was wide enough that the shooter wouldn't be likely to hit the former prince if he simply fired away. Of course, he wasn't going to rid himself of his only defense wasting a bullet.

Hans was careful to retrieve his sabers from the floor quietly, so as not to give away his position. He had been able to use chokepoints to effectively reduce the odds from twelve-to-one to a mere three-to-one, but that still wasn't great. Especially because one of the men still had a gun; Hans was basically required to kill him first. Otherwise, he'd expose himself to a bullet while he was fighting the others. He tried to listen over the pounding of his own heart, tried to estimate the positions of the different men, but it was futile.

Hans knew that the gunman had been moving along the left side of the sitting room, so he moved in that direction, padding quietly and rotating his wrists. He waited another moment or two, and then he burst into action.

Hans slid around the edge of the couch and pushed himself to his feet an arm's length from the gunman. Hans lunged forwards and twisted his body to the side, ramming his sword into the man's chest. There was a loud bang as the soldier fired, and Hans felt a flash of pain. He looked down to see a bloody streak along his left side, and realized that the bullet had hit him glancingly.

 _Not perfect, but I suppose I'll take it,_ he thought with a grim smile.

Hans turned and parried the sword of one of the other soldiers, stepping back as they closed in on him in a frenzied rush. He moved automatically, turning blows aside on instinct as the four swords flashed in the air, clanging and scraping with blinding speed. Hans smiled despite the danger of the situation, feeling an insane exhilaration at fighting both of the men at once.

One of the soldiers, frustrated at Hans's adroit defense, wound his arm back to attempt an overhand swing. Immediately Hans's saber flashed, ducking forwards and stabling the man through the armpit. The former prince shoved his sword in to the hilt and then immediately let go, stepping towards the other guard and twisting his stance to adjust to a fencing posture.

Now on the offensive, Hans began to move lightning-quick, stabbing and slashing at the man with blinding speed. The remaining swordsman backpedaled, furiously working to keep up with the master duelist. Hans lunged forwards and feinted with his blade, effectively causing the guard to twist away from an attack that didn't come. Hans planted a foot on the ground beside the guard's legs and clapped the man's shoulder with his free hand, slamming the guard to the ground. Hans whirled his sword about and slashed the man's throat so deep that his head almost came off.

The former prince turned back to the other soldier, who was now holding Hans's blade in his left hand, having torn it from its place skewering his right arm. The arm in question was practically torn off, such was the poor job the man had done getting Hans's sword out. Blood was spilling all over the guard's uniform and the finely lacquered floor. Hans sighed as the man started to edge closer.

"You're going to bleed out from that arm if you don't go seek help, man," Hans said as he their blades scraped against each other. He turned the sword aside easily. "Why bother ensuring your death by insisting that I kill you?"

The guard did not answer but instead screamed with fury, lunging forwards. Hans stepped to the side and the man tumbled to the floor where the former prince was a moment before; Hans rammed his sword into the back of the man's head, pinning it to the ground.

He frowned as he retrieved his swords. What a waste of life. Then again, Hans supposed that these men deserved it. One could not give too much credit to a soldier whose allegiance was so readily turned. The former prince wondered how much of Arendelle's army had remained loyal to the queen. So far, it hadn't seemed like much.

Hans also picked up his pistols, sticking them back into the holsters and thinking to himself that he should have brought a reload. He then made his way back into the servant's hallway, stepping over the corpses of the men who were shot in the doorway. He glanced about to find the passage blissfully empty, and he then paused for a moment to consider his options.

He needed to get out of here, and fast. As much as he'd love to try and break in his new tensing disk with the blood of that telekinetic, he had no vial to collect it in, and the ritual took far too long for him to perform in person. Perhaps he'd have to bring something to collect blood in for future battles. In any case, the former prince came back into the first room and looked about. The room was filled with corpses but devoid of life, and though Hans could hear voices nearby, for the moment he was unnoticed.

Hans crossed the room quickly and drew back the curtain, revealing the window behind it. As he had expected, it looked upon the exterior garden. He watched the darkened yard for half a minute before he determined that it would be safe to make a break for it. He glanced down and saw that he still had the garrote wound around his arm. _Guess now just wasn't the time._

Hans looked around the floor for a moment and came up with the leg of a chair that had broken off during the fighting. He wound up and slammed it into the window, shattering it outwards into a dozen pieces. The former prince heard the nearby men shout, but he was already vaulting through the window and dashing across the yard. By the time he reached the street, he heard gunshots, but another moment and he ducked into a complex series of alleyways that would afford him cover. Following him through the undercity would be like tracking him through a jungle, and he doubted they would be willing to abandon their posts and do so.

After a few more harried minutes of putting distance between himself and Namar Sadden's manor, Hans came to a halt in a poorly-lit intersection and caught his breath. Where to now?

He knew there was some sort of resistance in this town still, the old man and Novare had told him as much. Hans supposed that he just had to find it.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

 _It is inspiring to see those who persist in these dark times._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Resistance holdout,

Arendelle

January 20th, 1843

"Queen Elsa! Queen Elsa! Wake up!"

Elsa blearily opened her eyes and rolled over on the small cot to face a young boy of no more than thirteen standing in the doorway.

"Father Clement says that you need to hear something!"

Elsa blearily nodded to the young man and rolled out of the bed, already wearing the rough, nondescript clothing that the resisters used to blend when they made forays into the city. She raked her hands through her hair, wincing every time her fingers hit a tangle, and twisted the mess into a bun as she followed the boy through the hallways of the holdout.

A week had passed since she managed to find them; or, rather, they had found her. Novare's soldier friend had known the location of the holdout, and the pair had fled to it with the rescued princess and her husband-to-be. Novare had immediately told the rebels to be on the lookout for Elsa and Hans, suspecting that they might go into hiding if they failed to overturn the new regime.

Which they had. Elsa winced as she felt a dull ache in her broken arm. She adjusted the sling as she came into the small dining room that served as a sort of mission control, as it was the only room with a table large enough to suffice. The room was already uncomfortably cramped, with a dozen or so others gathered around the table. The only one who was seated was Jean-Baptiste Clement; his leg had been injured during the night of the revolution and it wasn't healing properly.

Arendelle's former religious leader nodded to the queen upon her entrance, and several others bowed their heads in respect. It made her uncomfortable, the way these men still paid homage to a queen who ruled nothing. She took a place between Hans and Novare, nodding to them both in turn. The boy who had brought her lingered for a moment in the doorway before Hans crossed the room to him, murmured something quietly, and shut the door on him.

It was the general policy of the resisters that the children in their care should know as little as possible. That way, in the event that one was captured, they would hopefully have no reason to be tortured for information.

Clement cleared his throat and began. "Thank you, Queen Elsa, for joining us. I know that you worked the late patrol last night, but this was sufficiently important to wake you."

Elsa nodded her understanding to him. Truth be told, she was taking the late patrols because she was having trouble sleeping anyway. Restful sleep evaded her; instead, she was teased with stupors and hazes, and often nightmares. It was surely lack of sleep that caused the queen's mind to wander even as the meeting began and Hans stepped forward to recount what had caused him to call for this meeting in the first place. Elsa found herself thinking about Anna instead.

Her dear sister was not fit to attend these meetings; a week after being freed, the princess was still bedridden and recuperating from her torture. Elsa visited her sister often, wracked with the guilt of knowing that if she hadn't left for Corona, her sister might never have been captured. Indeed, none of this might have happened if she had been able to confront Namar Sadden immediately, without the help of Everdark's wizards.

"- the evidence is clear," Hans was saying as Elsa's attention returned to his words. "The Siguror tomb has been raided. The queen's ancestors have been disinterred. We do not know for sure why, but I have unpleasant suspicions."

There were murmurs about the room. Elsa stopped, sure that she'd missed something from Hans's statement for lack of context. "What? They're digging up my ancestors? Why?"

"Yes, why?" Voices around the room echoed. It was perhaps a testament to these dark times that there was barely time to be appalled that these villains did not pay respect to the dead, even the dead of a royal family.

Hans measured the room with a gaze, and determined that it would be best to tell them everything he knew. There were still some who did not trust him, ones who knew him from before and weren't ready to forgive. Chief among them was Kristoff, who stood across the room from the former prince and watched with narrowed eyes. If Hans was to win their trust, it would begin with honesty.

"Her majesty is a sorceress," Hans began, motioning towards the woman who stood beside him, adjusting a strap on the splint that held her arm, "and the fact is, magic often runs in bloodlines."

"But I was cursed," Elsa interrupted. "None of my family before me had magic."

"I would foray that our enemy is unaware of that fact, your majesty," Hans said. "It seems they believe that someone in your bloodline had powers as well."

Though the public had been unaware of Elsa's powers until her coronation day, certain members of Agnarr's administration were too close not to notice; for example, all of the Magistrate's Council was aware of the girl's abilities. Namar Sadden had surely heard Agnarr's admission that Elsa had been cursed, but it made sense that a man as paranoid as he would have suspected something else afoot.

It would seem to Hans that the Lord Insurgent had suspected Agnarr of lying to conceal a well-kept family secret. They had a long history of witches and wizards in the family, and unfortunate as it was that Elsa would accidentally reveal her abilities so publicly, the event could be hushed up. Branded as no more than a curse, a one-off abnormality in an otherwise picturesque royal heritage.

Hans explained his theories as such to the assembled audience, and then continued. "You're probably wondering why it would matter whether Elsa was related to dead witches and wizards."

"Naturally." Elsa raised an eyebrow.

Hans considered what he was about to say for a few moments. "I have a powerful friend. He knows a lot about magic, including some of the ancient and dark arts in the employ of our enemy."

The average person in this room knew nothing of the scope of this situation; to them, Arendelle's problems started and ended with Namar Sadden. They had little idea where the Lord Insurgent's ring of wizards had come from, but it mattered little to them. Enemies were enemies.

"There was ancient practice of magic called 'tensing,'" Hans said. "It had many uses, but they all centered around the taking of souls. Many wizards practiced in the art would use tensing as a form of immortality, taking the souls of lesser beings to prolong their own lifespans far beyond mortal limits."

Hans could tell that he now had everyone's attention, including Elsa's. He hoped that she wasn't angry with him for not sharing this information before; in hindsight, he wished that he had told her long ago. Information was their ally in the fight against Everdark.

"However, my suspicion is that Namar Sadden is versed in another use of tensing. If a wizard's blood is taken by a tensing blade, a ritual can be performed that will grant the wizard's powers to another. If I am correct, Namar Sadden is raiding the Siguror tomb in the hopes that one of Elsa's ancestors will grant him her powers."

"It needs blood, you say?" Clement said, stroking at his beardless chin. "Even Agnarr has been dead some six years. There is no blood left in that tomb."

"I suspect, Father, that the ritual cares not whether specifically blood is obtained," Hans said. "If the ritual searches only for the essence of a wizard, I expect that ground bones would suffice. But I am no expert in the craft."

There was a general murmur, during which Elsa found her mind whirling. On one hand, if Namar Sadden was wasting time and resources digging up corpses in a vain search for more magic, then that was good for the resistance; he would find nothing more than dusty bones in that old tomb. But on the other hand, she felt a deep discomfort at the notion that her ancestors' earthly remains would soon be ground to ash and used in the cocktail of some dark ritual.

It gave her some solace that her parents' bones would remain undisturbed, wherever they lay at the bottom of the sea. Still, the thought that the remains of her bloodline were to be annihilated emphasized to Elsa the feeling that she was very young and very alone in this world. She was the eldest member of the Siguror family, and she wasn't even twenty-five. She had lost her kingdom, had lost her people, and nearly her sister. Elsa needed to sit down.

She stepped past the others to make her way from the room, wincing at the way they hurried to make a way from her, murmuring supplications to her as she passed. Elsa followed the hallways not to her own room, but to the one in which her sister lay. The former queen needed to see Anna.

Anna lay awake, staring at the ceiling. When she heard footsteps, she shifted a bit to look at the door; her face broke into a weak smile when she saw her sister walk in. Anna was still in intense pain; the resistance's only doctor had determined that she had two broken ribs and a concussion, and that she had spent nearly a week with dangerously low amounts of blood due to starvation and bleeding from the torture wounds.

She was on the mend now, but her face was still sallow and pained, and she felt little twinges from her ribcage with every breath.

"Elsa."

Her dear sister took a wooden chair from the wall and placed it beside the bed, smiling sadly as she sat down. Elsa gently brushed a wisp of hair out of Anna's face and then glanced at the bedside table, where a bowl of potato soup sat, mostly untouched. Elsa touched the bowl, and found that it had gone cold.

"Anna, you need to eat." She tried to sound like she was teasing; Elsa didn't want to let on how much it upset her that Anna was hardly eating.

"I know, Elsa," Anna sighed. "It just hurts to swallow, you know, and even though I'm hungry, I just never feel like I want to eat."

"Well," Elsa said, smoothing the girl's blankets and adjusting her pillow, "try and keep at it anyway. You'll get your strength back faster this way."

"I know." Anna smiled at her sister, then turned and gazed at the wall. She laughed without humor. "You know, all this turmoil makes me think that a spring wedding might not work out after all."

Elsa realized, for the first time since she had been reunited with Anna, that she hadn't ever seen what happened to the ring. As discreetly as possible, she tried to look at the girl's fingers, but the redhead was as perceptive as ever.

"It's gone," she smiled ruefully, holding her hand out in front of her and spreading the fingers, empty and white. "When I woke up in Whiteveil, it was gone. Whoever beat me into unconsciousness has that ring now, I guess."

"I'm so sorry." Kristoff was probably miserable to have lost it. He'd scrimped and saved for the better part of a year to buy that diamond. Elsa had offered to commission one herself, but he'd insisted, only allowing her to fashion the band from ice. And now it was probably in one of the six or seven dozen pawnshops in Arendelle. If it was even still in the city.

"It's a shame," Anna said. "It was a beautiful ring."

Elsa didn't like this hollow, emotionless way that her sister was talking. Anna sounded dead inside, and that scared her.

"Don't worry, Anna," she said, deliberately making her voice chipper. "Even if we have to push the wedding back until June or July, you'll be married before you know it. And if you thought that ring was beautiful, just wait until you see the next one."

"Thanks, Elsa." Anna turned to gaze at her sister. "Did you have something you needed to tell me?"

 _Damn._ She really was perceptive. Elsa had counted on telling Anna the news about the Siguror tomb, but she didn't want to upset her sister any more.

"You can tell me, Elsa. I'm tougher than I –" she interrupted herself with a weak cough. "- look right now."

"Namar Sadden thinks that some of our ancestors might have been wizards, like me, so he's raiding the tomb. He knows a dark form of magic that would let him take the powers of any spellcasters he finds there."

Anna frowned, gazing past the queen as she considered this information. "But none of them were wizards, as far as we know."

"Right. I don't think we have any magical blood in our heritage. Still, it means as we speak, the remains of our ancestors are being defiled. Pretty soon, there won't be anything left in this world to remember the Sigurors by except you and me."

"That's all there's been for six years, sis," Anna said. "All that's in that tomb are some dusty old bones. The spirit of our family lives on within us, not a couple of stone boxes."

Elsa smiled at her sister, marveling at the redhead's ability to persist in the face of daunting odds. "You're right, Anna. You always are."

Elsa heard one of the resisters call her name, and she gave her sister one more fond glance before leaving the room.

xxx

Namar Sadden was not the only human in the Dark Chamber today. Two Priests of Entropy knelt beside him as he welcomed the Dark God's presence, clad as always in their robes of sable and gold. Namar Sadden felt the cold rush that marked the arrival of the deity, all the while fixating on a scuff on the hardwood floor.

"I smell death." The voice could be felt in the floor's vibrations.

"Yes, master. Both of the wizards who were killed in the fighting last week." Namar Sadden could smell the reek of the dead as well. The corpses had been interred in a snowbank on the grounds of the Lord Insurgent's manor, and as such they were in remarkable condition for being a week dead. That said, ever since the corpses had been brought inside for the ritual, they had begun to thaw, and that melting had released a stench of decay.

"Ah. Yes. The telekinetic and the psion who were so overconfident in their own abilities."

"Yes, master." It relieved Namar Sadden that Everdark did not blame him for the deaths of the wizards. Of course, spellcasters were incredibly rare, and having one killed was a great blow. But that was why they would be tensing today.

"There are also bones that belong to neither man."

"Yes, master. We have disinterred the remains of every member of the Siguror line." Magic was hereditary, and therefore it must be the case that some of Elsa's ancestors must also possess cryomancy. Namar Sadden didn't believe the 'cursed' story Agnarr had used at all; such a powerful trait was something meant to be revealed only at opportune moments.

"Good." The God's essence flowed about the room, and the old Chief Magistrate imagined that it was examining the corpses and the bones. "Very good."

"Shall we proceed with the tensing ritual, then, master?" Namar Sadden was twisting a ring about his finger now, over and over again.

"Yes. But there has been a slight change of plans."

"W-what do you mean, master?" His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"I would be foolish if I did not value the contributions that you make to my plans, Namar. Quite foolish indeed. I would be equally foolish if I continue to underestimate our worthy adversaries."

"You are too kind, master."

"Silence, you fool. I am not attempting to flatter you. I am acceding that if our troublesome enemies are able to kill you, my control of Arendelle is upset quite dramatically. The city falls into turmoil, and it very well may end up in the hands of the Siguror girl again."

"This is… true, master."

"I do not need you to inform me of that, Namar. I have made the decision, then, to make you the vessel of these late wizards' souls."

Namar Sadden fell silent for several moments. Every single Priest of Entropy was already implanted with a tensing disk, and as such the original plan was to transfer the wizard's powers to the two priests that knelt adjacent to him. The Lord Insurgent did not even have such a disk.

"B-but, master…"

"I understand that this will require a small operation on your part, Namar. Don't worry yourself; my priests are excellent surgeons."

Suddenly, Namar Sadden felt his arms on either side seized by the priests, and panic gripped at his chest. He'd seen the operations before; they were bloody and violent, and had sometimes ended in death for far younger men than him. The tensing rituals were hardly better.

"Wait, master-"

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a rush of heat as Everdark left the Dark Chamber. Strong arms dragged the former Chief Magistrate to his feet, still spluttering. The priests took Namar Sadden to the white-linen covered table that had been prepared for the rituals, and forced him onto it.

"No! No, I order you to stop handling me at once! You must listen to me!" Namar Sadden's neck bulged with anger as he shouted at the Priests of Entropy, but it was no use. They were following the orders of a greater master.

With great efficiency, they lashed the old man to the table. One of the expressionless, emotionless servants of the Dark God handed Namar Sadden a thin block of wood to bite, and the other prepared several knives.

"Stop this at once! I am too important to be risked on this operation!" He fought against his restraints, but he was an old man, and bound well. It was futile.

One of the priests spoke, in a dead voice. "You are a figurehead, Namar Sadden. Our master is content to use you for his purposes because you were a trusted figure in this city before the revolution. You increased the odds of a smooth transition of power. That does not make you important, or irreplaceable. If you die, the city will fall into turmoil, but our master has stamped out insurgency before. The God of Darkness will run this city red if it must, but it will achieve victory with or without you. Do not assume that you are owed anything."

The wooden block was proffered to him again, just as Namar Sadden was about to shout a retort. Then he saw one of the priests split his shirt open with a knife, laying bare his stomach and chest. Panicked, Namar Sadden bit down on the block, closing his eyes and feeling his stomach twitch rapidly in anticipation of the blade.

The Priests of Entropy did not make him wait long. Moments later, he felt the kiss of cold steel against his abdomen, and then a fiery pain like nothing he'd felt before.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 _The remainder of the wizards fared no better against Barsad. Soon his master had collected twelve souls._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Condorcet Square,

Arendelle

January 20th, 1843

Elsa pulled the hood further about her head as she gazed from the second-floor window of the apartment above a little bakery into the square. It was filled to bursting with Arendelle's people, corralled into place by a swell of guards around the edges of the area. The sun was setting bleakly on the horizon, painting the snow an unearthly orange. She was glad to be out of the press of citizens, stationed instead to keep a bird's eye view of the happenings. The baker downstairs was friendly to the resistance, or at least oblivious to the fact that they were putting him in substantial danger. He had offered them a room upstairs to view the ceremony for a modest sum, with no questions asked and no names given.

Somewhere in the crowd, Hans and a few other resisters were moving about, waiting to see if Namar Sadden would present himself. The resistance had determined that he must be eliminated if they would regain control of the city, and were infiltrating this public ceremony to try and make that happen. Just hours earlier, Elsa's meeting with her sister had been brought to an end by the arrival of news that this convocation would be held. According to the intelligence they had received, Namar Sadden would be present today, in public for the first time since Elsa went underground. Elsa wondered what could possibly make the man leave his tower, if the commonplace executions weren't enough.

Three times in the short period since the revolution, a resister had been captured by one of Sadden's men. Three times, the prisoner had been tortured for information about the location of the resistance holdout and the identities of the rebels. Three times, the prisoner had broken and divulged all they knew, only to be publicly hanged a day or so later. Each time before, these gatherings had been one of these executions. It was grisly, seeing a man with whom you had been fighting to survive with mere days earlier hung until dead before your very eyes.

Each time, the resistance had moved their hideout, and each time, the vise got a bit tighter. The city was vast but finite, and they were running out of places to disappear. The identities of the resisters were, by now, common knowledge, and as such they appeared only in public behind a disguise. Hans alone was safer, because Arendanes did not recognize him by sight, and even if they did, his beard did a good job of covering his identity from those who might have known him during his life.

"Citizens of Arendelle," the booming voice of a Priest of Entropy began. He stood on an erected platform towards one side of Condorcet Square; the massive fountain statue of Saint Adelaide that dominated the square would not allow for a stage that wasn't off-center. "His Excellency Namar Sadden extends a most gracious and benevolent welcome to his loving citizens."

It chilled Elsa to hear the applause that met his statement. She turned to glance at Novare, who stood beside her in the dimly lit chamber. The girl was frowning deeply.

"Allow them some slack," she said unhappily. "They can't possibly have a very complete understanding of what's happening, and the only voice in their ears is the one on that platform down there."

"His Excellency also wishes to inform his populace that the nation is on track to peace." More applause. "Each day, we get closer to stamping out the cowardly and base rebellion that threatens your safety. But we are not done yet."

The priest scanned the crowd with a smug expression before continuing. "His Excellency regrets to inform his populace that, the reason this resistance has been so difficult to quash is that there are those among you who _sympathize_ with them!" Booing. "There are even those among you, foolish and misguided as you may be, who would attempt to assist these thieves and killers! These sympathizers are allowing the resistance to hide among you!"

"It doesn't look like he decided to show," Novare said softly, scanning the swath of soldiers from beside the queen.

"Which is worrisome," Elsa replied. "This is starting to feel like a trap."

"His Excellency is eager to inform you, however, that he will be redoubling his efforts to quash this evil, starting now. He is quite certain that there are members of the resistance in _this very crowd,_ proliferating their evil as we speak."

Elsa and Novare tensed jointly. Suddenly, there was movement in the ranks of the soldiers, and for a moment it wasn't clear what was happening. Then, one soldier came to the front of the stage, dragging by the arm a young girl of perhaps five. A woman, somewhere in the crowd, began to scream.

Both women knew that they should escape. They had been set up, and this was a trap. But they couldn't move, transfixed by their horror as they watched the scene unfold below.

xxx

Blended into the crowd, Hans could see the screaming woman, fighting through the crowd to get to her daughter, held hostage onstage. His hand twitched, and he found it straying towards one of his pistols, concealed beneath a thick overcoat.

"Let me through! That's my daughter!" The woman screamed, almost hysterical. The crowd was strangely lethargic, almost careless as it watched her make her way to the stage.

"What is your name, girl?" The priest asked his hostage. She said something inaudible at this distance, a wild and terrified look in her eyes. The girl had noticed her mother, and was growing more distressed with each passing second. "Rebecca Atworth," the priest said, smiling.

"Well, Rebecca, you were captured, this morning, by one of our constables. It seemed you were attempting to pick his pockets. Not cleverly, I might add, because you did not accomplish your goal."

"Please, let me through! Please!" The mother had by now reached the stage, and the soldiers had formed a solid wall between her and Rebecca.

Hans felt his blood growing cold, and his pulse quickening. Through his heightened awareness, he found each of the three other resisters in the crowd, tracking their movements carefully. They were growing erratic, and that meant unpredictable. Hans felt that strange, surreal feeling he always did before the killing started.

"Rebecca is not part of this rebel scum, but she will serve our purposes, just the same. The resisters have claimed that they are the protectors of the _downtrodden_ , the guardians of the weak. But His Excellency knows that they weave in lies and deception! So, he will prove them the baseless cowards they are: they may reveal themselves, or Rebecca will die."

Another soldier came up alongside the one who held Rebecca, and placed a pistol against her temple.

"NO! NO!" The mother screamed, sobbing as she forced herself against the wall of soldiers again and again, punching at them uselessly. One caught her next blow and threw her roughly to the ground, where she began a keening, blood-chilling wail.

Rebecca, ashen with fright, squirmed against the arms of the emotionless soldier who held her, trying and failing to get out of the way of the loaded death pressed against her. Hans felt the creeping dread of a trapped animal.

"These resisters are _not_ your allies! They _lie_ to you! They are not the protectors of the weak! They will not save this girl!"

"NOOOO!" A pair of gunshots sounded in quick succession as one of the resisters killed two soldiers and stormed the stage, tossing aside his spent pistols and drawing a sword.

Time seemed to slow down as Hans watched. The resister lunged at the man holding Rebecca, who casually fired his pistol. Rebecca's head exploded, and her body twisted violently against the hands restraining it, splattering blood and pink brains all over the wooded stage and the nearby guards. Another soldier tackled the resister from behind, plunging a knife into his back.

Everyone was screaming. Rebecca's mother, the resister, who was now being stabbed repeatedly to death, begging for mercy, and dozens in the crowd were all screaming. It sounded like a torrent of damned souls to the former prince, which he supposed they might just be, as the dozen or so soldiers on stage leveled their rifles into the crowd.

"We must purge the unholy resistance from Arendelle's populace," the Priest of Entropy screamed, veins bulging in his neck. "A few lives is a small price to pay for safety!"

Hans threw himself to the ground just as the soldiers opened fire into the crowd of citizens. He hit the cobblestones hard, and was immediately pummeled by trampling legs as terrified citizens fled about him. The bullet rhythm beat alongside the feet of the damned as bodies hit the ground like seventy-kilogram raindrops. Hans wrapped his arms around the back of his neck and curled inwards to a fetal position, trying to edge his way closer to the stage.

Blows rained upon him from all sides as stampeding citizens fled. He was in hell. All the world was a screaming, surging mass filled with smoke and blood and bodies. Round after round of gunfire sounded for what felt like years, but in reality could not have been more than a minute. Hans reached the stage and pressed himself against its side, feigning death amidst a pile of corpses. The shooting slowed, and for a moment he wasn't sure what was happening. The former prince's ears rung, and though he felt sure that the soldiers on stage were speaking, he could hear nothing of it.

Feet hit the ground less than a foot from his face as a soldier jumped off of the platform. Hans cracked open an eye and looked about the clearing. A weaker stomach would have been repulsed by the sight of no less than forty corpses littering the street. Even a fairly strong stomach would have been repulsed by the oozing blood that was pooling onto the ground all about the former prince, touching his face and arms. He still could not hear over the ringing in his ears, but Hans could tell that they were now talking, pointing in the direction of the apartment above the bakery.

xxx

Though Hans wasn't able to hear it, there was a commotion in that second-floor room where Elsa and Novare had been watching. Less than a minute before, just as the renegade had stormed the stage to try and save Rebecca, Elsa and Novare had heard a door open behind them.

Elsa was halfway out the window, ready to join in the fight, when the men stepped into the room. It was the baker who had offered them this room, just twenty minutes before, and a Priest of Entropy wearing a black, formless mask.

"Here they are, sir, just as I said. The two resisters."

In a single movement, Elsa swept back into the room and threw three bolts of ice at the men, acting on instinct. The priest was struck by one in the stomach and stumbled backwards, whereas the baker was hit once in the chest and again in the head, pinning his body to the wall and splattering blood across it. Novare dove for the floor and reached for her single-shot concealed pistol, rolling behind the room's sofa.

The Priest recovered and summoned a lash of fire to his hand, cracking it against the opposite wall. Elsa caught the whip on a shield of ice, but the flames set the rest of the room alight instantaneously. Novare looked up from the sofa just in time to see a rapid-fire exchange of magical blows from the two wizards, explosions of fire and ice raining in an arcane swath around the little second-floor chamber. Their faces were contorted with concentration, their movements incredibly precise: both realized that the slightest slip-up would mean a failed rebuff and instant death.

Novare wasn't a good shot, by any means – as a matter of fact, she'd only fired a gun three times before in her life, and those were all simply equipment checks on this very pistol, to make sure that it was functioning properly when it had been given to her – but she realized all the same that a bullet might break the stalemate even if it did not fly true. Distracting the pyromancer alone would be enough.

She ducked over the sofa and immediately it exploded in front of her. She was blinded by a flash of light and heard a high-pitched scream and felt intense pain. Then she felt her body thud against the wall, and everything went black.

The priest had let his guard down to attack the couch, and four bolts of ice pinned him to the wall in the space of less than a second. Elsa screamed with anger and threw another one right into the middle of the man's head, caving it in and killing him messily. She then ran to the wall where Novare lay and summoned a flurry about her, quenching the flames that ate at the girl's clothing. Elsa knelt beside her and saw, flicking off her magic as the fires were doused, that Novare was still alive.

That much was certainly true, and Elsa took a sudden, ragged breath that she had been inadvertently holding.

"Oh god, Odette. Oh my god." She brushed uneven hair out of the girl's face; some of her hair had been singed away, and her exposed skin was reddened, but it didn't look like she'd been near flame long enough for extreme burns. She was just unconscious from the blow to her head, it seemed. Elsa breathed out in relief and then stood, turning to put out the fires that had lit up around the room.

Just as she stood, there was a cacophony of gunfire, and the window shattered inwards. Elsa's shoulder was hit and she spun once, hitting the ground hard. There were shouts from the square below, and Elsa groaned, rolling into cover against the wall Novare lay huddled, which lay at a right angle to the windowed one. A few more bullets splintered the wood of that wall, finding their way into the room and burying themselves in some piece of the furniture. Elsa groaned again, trying not to focus on the intense pain in her arm, and used her magic to put out the other fires in the room.

Then she pulled herself into a sitting position, listening. There was less commotion in the square than she would have imagined, were there open fighting; the only gunshots she heard were accompanied by a splintering of the wall. Which meant that whatever happened in the square had been so swift as to have ended in the time Elsa killed the pyromancer. And soldiers were shooting at her, now, so she figured that the resisters hadn't found a way to win.

She froze her wound, covering her left shoulder with a thin veil of ice and wincing. She laughed once, despite herself. _I've been shot in both shoulders across a space of little more than a week. Just my luck._ Elsa heard the doors to the bakery thrown open, and she dragged herself to her feet, preparing to meet the soldiers headfirst.

xxx

Hans carefully watched the group of six soldiers enter the bakery. They'd spent the better part of a minute taking potshots at it, which he considered strange. It was all-too representative of the behaviors of Everdark's servants to expend life so readily; they did not seem to care if the commotion had been caused by one of their own, or an innocent altogether. Lives were meant to be spent, as it were. Shoot first and ask questions later.

Hans tried to mentally picture the stage, still with its Priest of Entropy and some number of soldiers as he lay in its shadow. How many soldiers? His brain seemed slow and addled, and he found himself wondering if he'd been kicked in the back of the head without realizing it. He'd been hit so many times in the few seconds after he dove for the ground that it seemed plausible, even likely. In any case, his hearing had cleared enough for the former prince to listen in on the conversation above, so he slowly began to move his hands into a position to push himself to his feet, and listened.

"Well, that's a bloody fucking mess, isn't it?" This the priest. "Bunch of dirty fucking blood."

"Are you sure that it was wise, sir? Until now, we've held the heart of the public –"

"Until now, we have trifled with the fickle emotions of the people, yes," the priest said coldly. "But we have now established our foothold quite imperturbably. There can no longer be any resistance from the citizenry at large; we are too strong. The only threat to our God's victory now is the meddling of a couple foolish resisters. We would gladly spend every last life in this city to see them brought to their knees."

"You're not going to have the chance," Hans said as he stood, drawing a pistol and firing six shots in quick succession, shooting each of the guards surrounding the priest once, dead in the chest. They barely had time to look surprised, let alone draw the guns they had so hastily put away. He climbed onto the platform and holstered his pistol, drawing the second and spinning it on a finger as he eyed the priest, stumbling backwards and spluttering.

"B-but, we killed all of –"  
"Yeah, about that," Hans said. "Looks like you missed a spot."

He shot the Priest of Entropy between the eyes. The man's head snapped back and he fell to the stage, dying among the corpses of his soldiers and the girl Rebecca. Hans turned now to the bakery and heard the sounds of a struggle. He jogged towards it, hopping off of the platform and nearly slipping on a slick pool of blood. The former prince reached the building and stepped inside, noting that the little bakery was still in fine condition. It seemed that the fighting had been limited to the upstairs.

He took the steps two at a time, bounding onto the second-floor landing and seeing havoc. Three men were frozen like statues in the hallway leading up to the door, coated with a thin but strong layer of ice and stilled with expressions of shock still on their faces. The door to the room at the end of the hallway was scorched, as if the room had been on fire, and inside he saw a room riddled with burns and bullet-holes, and ice.

"Elsa? Elsa, it's Hans," he said, holding his loaded pistol by the side and creeping down the hallway, unsure what he might find in that room.

"Hans, come quick! I need your help!" Hans was relieved to hear the queen's voice in that room, but all the same, the urgency of her words did not bode well to him. He reached the threshold and immediately noticed the poor condition that Novare was in.

She was still unconscious, and looked no better than she had a few minutes ago after the explosion; if anything, she fared worse. Elsa hadn't realized until after she dispatched of the soldiers that the back of Novare's head had cracked along a small split in her skin when she had hit the wall, and she'd lost quite a bit of blood before Elsa sealed the injury off with ice. Now the young Magistrate was quite pale.

"We need to get Odette out of here," Elsa said. "She's hurt."

Hans nodded once, crossing the room and examining her for a few moments. He came to the conclusion that moving her wouldn't exacerbate any of the injuries – at least, not that he could tell – so he scooped the girl up and hoisted her over his shoulder. She was surprisingly light, and for a horrible moment Hans stopped dead. _Mallory felt too light, too._ He shook his head. Even holding Novare over a shoulder, he could feel her heartbeat, and her body was still warm to the touch. She was strong, and she would be fine.

"Alright, your majesty," Hans said, walking over to the shattered window to gaze back out into an eerily empty square. To his discomfort, he noticed a couple of stray cats prowling about at the edge of the square, pausing here and there to lick at a pool of blood. There would be no proper burial for these victims. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Did any of the others make it?" Elsa groaned softly. Her left shoulder felt consumed by a dull throb of pain. She wouldn't turn down a doctor right now, either.

"No," came the simple reply.

xxx

The time had come. Everdark's servants had committed mass slaughter in the name of their twisted victory, and citizens of Arendelle were awakened to the bleak truth. Their beloved queen had not been 'secretly against them,' as Namar Sadden's lies had woven. Nor had the revolution been a reclamation of stolen rights, at least not for the many. It had been a bloody night to precede many bloody days, killing for power and power alone.

In the long days since the revolution, cognitive dissonance had let the citizenry to make allowances to the new administration, to heed the lies that they parsed: the violence would end shortly, and things would get better again. Martial law was temporary, and it was for the safety of the populace besides. The resistance was evil and was hellbent on destroying the peace. The Massacre at Condorcet Square sloughed away the layers of deceit and exposed the bare truth underneath.

Arendelle had fallen into the hands of darkness.

The meager rebellion, prompted by the Bishop Jean-Baptiste Clement, seized the day. Clement was savvy, and he was well-aware that the populace would be shaken to its core by the Massacre. They would begin to question the Lord Insurgent, and they would wonder, after all this time, what had happened to the old institutions that the revolution had toppled. He went about the resistance holdout in an animated way that day, making rushed preparations for hours on end, calling and sending off just about every one of the resisters on some duty or another, preparing for the night.

Hans was sent to the Wharf district, where he mingled with sailors, many out of work due to the tight restrictions placed on Arendelle's borders, in pubs until late at night, telling them each the same thing: 'at midnight there will be a gathering at the Saint Adelaide Cathedral, where friends of a like mind will discuss some things.' He did not tell them exactly what they would discuss, but he made clear enough his dislike of Namar Sadden, and his desire that things 'ought to go back to the way they were.'

Kristoff met with the ice-miners who still held him as a friend, who rejoiced to find that he was still alive and well. They did not need much plodding to be whipped into an anger at the current way of things, and he told them before departing, 'at midnight there will be a gathering at the Saint Adelaide Cathedral, where we will make things right.'

All of the other resisters who were able were likewise sent into the town, into their oldest and most familiar haunts, to the places where they would still find friendly faces. And they brought the same tidings to the men, women, and children they found. 'At midnight there will be a gathering at the Saint Adelaide Cathedral, and there we will take matters into our own hands.' They told then those friends to spread the message, and to bring all those who cared to take a stand to the church.

Novare was laid into a bed beside Anna's in the holdout, where Elsa wept over the two people she loved most in the world, both caught up in a war they had no stake in, both injured fighting a battle they could not control. But they were alive, and safe, for the moment. And Elsa had work to do tonight. So she whispered a quiet prayer for their safety, the first time she had ever turned her words to God before, and left them to sleep through a long and painful night.

"Do you think we will see many?" Hans asked, studying the dark streets from the belfry of the Cathedral. He removed a pocketwatch from his coat, rubbing his hands together against the cold. "It's eleven forty-five right now."

"I don't know, anymore," Elsa said solemnly, gazing towards the sea beyond. The entire city was opened up to her from this angle, all the way down to the sea. The only blemish, to her eye, was the glaring emptiness in her view where the palace once was. "I saw the way they applauded for Namar Sadden today. But then again, I know that the stranglehold of fear inspires strange behaviors."

"They ought to bring a torch or two with them," Hans said, rubbing his hands together again. "It's damn cold tonight, and dark, to boot."

"Clement is quite sure that there will be many," Elsa said blankly. "He's prepared quite a sermon for them. He practiced it for me, earlier. It's really quite inspiring. I have to hit my mark."

"I do expect you to win their loyalty, your majesty. They haven't seen you since you left to Corona almost a month ago, now."

 _Was it really in January, that I left for Corona?_ Elsa thought to herself, musing quietly. It felt like a lifetime past.

"The people of Arendelle loved you, Elsa." Hans turned, headed back inside to warmth. "Tonight will prove that, if nothing else."

"I do not doubt that they love me, Hans," Elsa said, kinesthetically sensing the former prince, lingering at the door back inside. "But I am not so sure that I could move them to revolution against a trained and capable army. An army with wizards, too."

"How many more wizards could he possibly have?" Hans chuckled. "Between the two of us, we've nabbed three so far. He's got to be running out by now."

Elsa knew that he was jesting, but it made her wonder all the same. So far, she had been under the lasting impression that Everdark's forces could be slogged through, eventually. But what if they were truly limitless?

Her thoughts were interrupted as she noticed a winking light in the periphery of her vision, and then another. She looked down and saw a couple of torches at a street corner a block away, marching towards the Cathedral. So some citizens had come, after all. Not many, but it would have to do. Just as she was about to turn back inside, she noticed a patch of lights approaching down the other street, from the other direction.

Then, to Elsa's astonishment, more and more torches became visible in the night, from all directions, lighting on window balconies and from curb to curb in the streets, until after a minute or so there was a sea of lights in the street below, each and every one marching towards the Saint Adelaide Cathedral. A sea of mice turned to men, a swath of ordinary people on the march, determined in this night to become heroes, or die trying.

Elsa found tears on her cheeks again, and she stepped back inside to face these brave people at the conclusion of Clement's speech.


	31. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Author's Note:

We're almost there! It feels strange to be nearing the end of TLD after all this time - nearly a year has been spent writing this fanfiction, and I've been sharing it with you all for over six months. We've got two more chapters and an epilogue to go, but if you're worried about what comes next, I can assuage your fears: this will be the first novel in a trilogy which continues the story long after this beginning.

I hope you'll all join me for every step of the way :)

xxx

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 _It is with a heavy heart that I allow these brave people to fight to the death for me._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Saint Adelaide Cathedral,

Arendelle

January 21st, 1843

The bell-tower did not toll the hour at midnight on January 21st. The bell-ringer was indisposed that night, which really meant that the monastic fellow was left bound in his cubicle, waiting out the night in imposed solitude. If he had weathered the revolution, the holdouts reasoned, he was at the least indifferent to the new regime. Best not take any risks with loose lips tonight. He remained at first on his bed, for it was somewhat more comfortable than anywhere else in the room, but eventually he became curious about what was going on below, and realized that if he lay on the floor and pressed his ear to the hardwood, echoes of the louder voices could be heard from the atrium below.

"Good evening, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers," Clement said at the start of his grand speech, his voice betraying the emotion that he felt at seeing the pews swollen with droves of resolute faces. "And I say 'good evening' with reason, for I hope that by the end of the night we all have reason to consider it good."

He cleared his throat, adjusting his position behind the familiar pulpit before continuing. "It has now been three weeks since I last stood before mass, and I can tell you that it feels good to be back."

His wan smile was met with broader ones from the crowd. They had missed their spiritual leader's guidance just as much as he had missed his flock.

"But I have not chosen to break my hiding tonight merely to bore you all with a sermon. I have done so because I believe that I have no other choice. By appearing here tonight, myself and my friends in the resistance risk life and limb. Not only our own, but the well-being of each of you, as well. We understand that, and would not be taking such a gamble if we were not desperate."

Numbering perhaps two hundred, the citizens at the pews were uncharacteristically quiet, even for a place of faith. It was the calm before a storm, Clement thought. During his time as a prison chaplain, he had comforted hundreds of men and women hours before they faced the gallows. They had a way about them, the soon-to-die. A kind of silence that filled this room.

"You have seen or heard of the Massacre at Condorcet Square, executed by a cruel and tyrannical government just hours before, on its own people. Thirty-seven dead in all, slaughtered for the simple purpose of instilling fear in the populace. Of instilling fear in _you._ I can tell you now, that we will mourn these victims. They did not deserve to die so prematurely. But more than mourn the dead, I tell you that we must _avenge_ them."

Elsa stood now in the shadows of an apse set just off of the atrium, watching the bishop speak. He was growing more animated, and she could see that he was affecting the assembled. Their faces were hardening, growing angry. It was momentous, to see a crowd of so many moved to righteous fury. She winced again as her left shoulder throbbed. Both of her arms were still injured; the right, though on the mend, hadn't had time to fully heal, and it was a testament to these desperate times that she was fighting with a broken arm. Her left was freshly wounded still. The resistance's surgeon had removed the bullet just two hours before.

But the face she needed to present to these people was the one they recognized as queen, down to the cosmetics that they would remember. To project strength to them, Elsa was not wearing a splint or cast on either arm, and instead bit back grimaces each time she moved them. She would need to get used to it anyway, for tonight she'd be fighting until the city was won or she died trying.

"That is right, brothers and sisters! We cannot allow the administration to commit such crimes, with no fear of punishment! We cannot allow them to take our loved ones any longer!"

There was a righteous cry from the assembled, but he continued on, whipping them to a battle frenzy.

"They have made a mockery of our beloved city! All of the ideals of our collective experience, trampled to the dirt by the boots of oppression! We will tell them 'no more!' We will make their arrogance their downfall!" Amidst the roars and stomps, he continued. "Namar Sadden has poisoned your minds with lies. The most egregious among them are the slanders that he has laid upon your former queen."

The assembled grew quieter. The common man, who hadn't had much reason to care who ruled him so long as he got along by-and-by, didn't have much in the way of an opinion on his ruler. Sure, he disliked Namar Sadden, but that had everything to do with the ill state of things as they were, and not that he had displaced another, better-liked monarch. Much as a royal liked to delude themselves that they were a favorite of the public, this was simply not the case, most of the time. Common folk had more important things to worry about than the trifling of politics.

So when Clement came to Queen Elsa, they quieted, unsure of what he would say. "I know that our oppressor told you that Queen Elsa was greedy. Uncaring. Even condescending, to folks like you. She thought she was better, because she had the powers of a witch. I can tell you sincerely, none of that is true in the least. But do not take my word for it. Listen to her."

Elsa stepped into view, from the shadowy eave, and suddenly hundreds of eyes were upon her. No longer did she wear the roughly sewn clothes of a revolutionary; tonight, Elsa had crafted with magic a dress of ice, similar to the one she'd crafted herself after the disaster of her coronation day. This one was a bit older, and a bit wiser, than the still-girlish one she'd made that night up on the North Mountain. By necessity, her shoulders were sheathed in a crystalline meshwork of ice that looked beautiful enough to convincingly cover her wounded arms. She wore no jewelry save an intricate band of ice woven around each ear.

Though the former queen had never suffered from stage fright badly before, now her chest felt like it had been clamped in a vise. These people were not hers, anymore. Perhaps they never were hers, in the first place. She reached the pulpit and nodded respectfully to Clement, who stepped aside for her and opened his arms, bidding her begin with a smile.

Elsa took a ragged breath.

"Friends," she began. She'd decided on the spot that a more traditional 'citizens of Arendelle' would sound too statesmanlike. Tonight, Elsa approached her former subjects as a friend in need. "I approach you in an hour of need. This hour waxes dark not only for myself, but for our beloved home. I hardly need reiterate the dangers of the specter looming over this city, for you have seen them yourselves. If not the murders at Condorcet Square, then the brigands that stalk the streets at night and call themselves 'soldiers.' If not the protection tax that is extracted from our struggling businesses, then the gallows that remained stocked with faces you know to be innocent. If not the abolition of the public schoolhouses, that once taught our children their numbers and letters, then the boarded windows of the soup kitchens. Who among us cannot say they have been wronged by Namar Sadden?"

Though the question was surely rhetorical, Elsa gazed across the pulpit at the assembled, feeling the fluttering of reassurance as they began to whisper agreement amongst themselves. One man shouted the words, "No one!" in response to her question nonetheless.

Elsa smiled.

"I did not abdicate the throne, contrary to what the new administration might say," Elsa continued, her voice echoing through the spacious vault. "It was seized in a manner most cowardly and foul. Namar Sadden and his black-hearted supporters have no mandate for rule. They are blackguards and villains, and we will do the work of Justice in seeing their throne broken."

The crowd had regained its earlier energy. The return of the queen had been unexpected, but welcome. It turned out, the citizens of Arendelle hadn't realized how much they wanted Elsa back until they saw her standing at that pulpit. Seizing the moment, she gave an impassioned call-to-arms.

"I will not dance around the fact, friends! I have called you here tonight because we speak of revolution!" The cheers were grand, forceful. "Not cowardly knives in the night, like our oppressors employed, but the cleansing fire of revolution that topples tyrants and restores justice! We are a nation of fighters, men and women who walk through Hell and come out at the other side, ready for more! We will prove this tonight!"

Elsa was yelling now, and so too came the riotous call of her makeshift army. She became sober, however, as she moved on.

"I cannot promise you that we will all survive the night. As a matter of fact, I can promise you exactly the opposite. Some of you will die. Many of you, perhaps. I cannot guarantee you life, and it is with a heavy heart that I ask many of you to sacrifice your own for our shared cause. I will march at the front lines among you; I could not bring myself to ask so much any other way.

"Namar Sadden thinks that we are weak because he has divided us. When we stand together tonight, we will prove that we are strong. Any who wish to walk the path of honor should join us tonight and forever be remembered as a hero. Who among you stand beside me?"

There was a massive roar as the assembled gave their revolutionary cry. _There will be blood tonight._

xxx

Namar Sadden stood on his third-floor balcony, wearing a stiff jacket to ward away the bitter chill. He watched solemnly as a wave of torchlight crept through the city towards his manor. The Lord Insurgent had been tracking their progress ever since one of his servants had woken him with the news of their gathering. That was three-quarters of an hour ago.

They were only a few blocks away now, and he could hear the pounding of their feet. From this distance, it sounded like the raging of a distant waterfall. Sadden had ordered his runners to recall all but a skeleton crew of soldiers within the city walls to his manor; now they were practically crawling over the grounds, and there were patrols of them through his many hallways. Still, he was worried.

Arendelle was a little country, and it wasn't known for a particularly large standing army. In most events where it required some form of military defense, its powerful naval fleet would suffice. When Sadden had taken power, he'd gained command of some eight hundred infantry and another hundred-fifty officers. In the next week or so he lost over two hundred men to defections against his rule, which were punished mercilessly, yet still left the barracks underpopulated.

They executed almost all of the remaining officers, replacing them with Priests of Entropy that Everdark summoned. Sadden wasn't sure where they'd arrived from, but they'd been welcome. The Lord Insurgent also received a personal retinue of five wizards, three of which were now dead. Left in his command were only the shieldheart and a sprinter.

To replenish the army, he'd recruited one hundred eager revolutionaries, though some were less-than-fit for true battle. He'd conscripted another hundred, though these ones weren't particularly loyal or trustworthy. In order to secure the kingdom, Sadden had needed to field a great many soldiers to the border towns, many of which were under revolt. Added to the fact that the resisters within the city had been quite effective at whittling down his forces, Namar Sadden now had about one-hundred soldiers on his property.

As the torchlight grew closer, he became ever-more certain that they would be outnumbered.

 _No matter,_ he thought to himself. _Using my new abilities, I should be able to put an end to Elsa's meddling._

It had been unfortunate that Agnarr had not been lying about Elsa's curse, but that was of little concern. He was still a telekinetic _and_ a psion now, and that made him certain that he could best the girl.

xxx

Elsa and her makeshift army came to a halt at the edge of Namar Sadden's grounds. The manor towered one hundred feet away, encircled by a row of soldiers three deep, with rifles leveled at her men. They hadn't started firing as soon as she was in range, which Elsa wasn't surprised by. Sadden would be the type to offer parley, even if it was only intended as a bout of posturing. She scanned their lines for her former Chief Magistrate, but didn't see him. The queen could feel the electric tension of the men around her, muscles tensed and breath coming in ragged gasps.

She could feel the fear of her men, palpable in the air. Elsa could only hope that their resolve wouldn't break when the killing started.

"If they start shooting, charge," Elsa said to her men, and the message rippled slowly backwards. The company had been required to arms themselves in a ragtag fashion, using whatever could be scrounged together quickly. Those who owned a firearm of their own carried it, and the same was true for swords. Several of the more rustic men had axes, but by far the most common armament was merely a thick, blunt object. So they would need to close on Sadden's professional army to have any chance of beating it.

Before any of the men could object, Elsa broke from the line and started to close the distance between herself and the enemy line. After a moment, she realized that Hans was walking beside her.

"Hans, this is foolish. If they all start shooting, I don't know if I'll be able to protect the both of us adequately. Return to the line at once." Though Elsa had grown quite adept at using barriers of ice to stop bullets, she had mostly been limited to staying a few rounds at a time. No less than fifty riflemen currently aimed at the pair, however, and Elsa wasn't as confident of her ability to make a barrier that strong.

"All due respect, your majesty, but I'm not going anywhere. You're the most important person in this army. If you die, the resolve of each and every man in that army breaks. We're done. Namar Sadden wins. They don't even know me. So if I walk up here with you and people start shooting, I just might draw enough of their fire to keep you alive."

Elsa didn't know how to respond to that. They came to a halt halfway to the line of the enemy, aglow from massive braziers that had been lit along the porch to give them enough light to reload by. She could not feel any of her extremities; there was a heady, balmy feeling in her head that was tricky to describe.

"Where is Namar Sadden?" She shouted, her voice carrying powerfully in the unnaturally still night.

For several seconds, there was no sound other than the clicking of Hans's revolvers as he casually checked to make sure they were loaded. It would be funny to her, if the air wasn't so thick with tension, how unnaturally calm the former prince was able to remain in situations like this.

"Well? Is he too base a villain to hold audience with a queen?" She asked after a half-minute brought no response. Finally, there was a movement in their lines, and a man stepped through them.

The tall, broad man with a black mustache looked distinctly familiar to Elsa; in fact, he'd been a prominent captain within her army before the revolution. In the turmoil afterwards, he'd sworn allegiance to the new regime and gained the rank of general in the process. His name was Ali Salvador.

"You are not a queen anymore, Elsa Siguror." General Salvador said. "I see no crown upon your head." The taunt set several of the soldiers laughing and jeering. Elsa could make out several derogatory slurs cast at her.

In response, she flicked her wrist and a tiara of ice materialized on her head. "Very well, general. Because your master has chosen to hide from me, I offer you the same choice that I would have given to him: surrender, or die."

The laughing continued. Elsa's face remained cool, eyes half lidded. Inside, her heart was pounding, her fingers growing clammy with anticipation. A twitch would unleash the blizzard inside of her.

"If you return to the path of justice, we will welcome you as friends and rebuild this great city together. If you choose to stand in our way, we will not hesitate to crush you under our heels."

"I think we've heard just about enough, bitch." General Salvador jeered, eliciting congratulatory laughs and complements from his retinue. "Run along, now, before we get sick of looking at that pretty little body of y-"

Salvador's sentence was cut off with a jerk and a snap as an icicle plowed into his face, throwing him back against the manor's front doors and splattering his brains across them. Sadden's soldiers turned to look at his body for a moment, stunned. Elsa stood fifty feet away, her right arm still extended and her face a mask of anger.

"I suppose we'll do this the hard way, then." Elsa heard the roar of her militia as they began to charge across the manor's lawn, the thunder of their feet shaking the ground itself.

The crack of gunfire filled the air as Sadden's soldiers let loose with the first volley. Elsa threw the largest barrier of ice that she could manage into the air in front of herself in an instant of frenzied exertion; the barrier was twenty feet wide and as tall as a man. It intercepted dozens of bullets, but wasn't large enough to stop them all. Screams of pain followed like thunder, but Elsa's army continued to charge.

Elsa allowed the wall to disappear as the riflemen frantically began reloading, and she and Hans led the charge, rushing towards the manor steps. Suddenly, half the riflemen raised their guns and fired; they'd had a second rifle already loaded and waiting by their sides. Elsa barely had time to be surprised as a bullet struck a thin pane of ice in front of her, shattering it and deflecting less than an inch to the left of her head. Elsa slid to the snowy ground, heart pounding, realizing that she had instinctually deflected the bullet. She shoved herself back up and continued running, relieved that Hans was still running.

He came within ten feet and started shooting with deadly accuracy, nailing five in quick succession before turning to his swords and falling upon them like a rabid predator. Elsa reached men and swept a wave of ice through them, freezing many solid. And then, as planned, she ran right past them, bounding up the steps towards the manor doors. Hans was already at them, waiting for her with a half-smile.

"You ready?" He shouted over the ungodly roar as Elsa's army collided with Namar Sadden's. A man came at him from the side with his rifle raised, plunging the bayonet towards the former prince. Hans fluidly stepped aside and slammed the flat of his blade onto the top of the gun, forcing it towards the porch, where it fired. Hans then rammed his shoulder into the man and flicked his sword upwards, slashing the soldier's stomach open. He threw the man to the ground by the shoulder and looked back to Elsa expectantly.

"As I'll ever be," she said with a smirk as she threw a bolt of ice over Hans's shoulder, striking down a soldier coming up behind him. The former prince cast a glance over his shoulder and scowled.

"Oh come on, I would have gotten that one."

Elsa rolled her eyes as they both entered the manor, leaving the armies to clash on the lawn. They were after a larger prize.

xxx

Namar Sadden stood in the music room. It was a wide chamber, with harpsichord and piano on one side, and various other instruments hanging on hooks from the walls. Though he rarely frequented this place, it felt correct to be here, tonight. The old man walked slowly to a fine violin on the wall and removed it from its peg, admiring the fine workmanship.

"Are you worried, Mattisse?" Namar Sadden asked the sprinter. The thin man stood uncharacteristically straight against the far wall, thumbing a necklace with the Dark God's insignia.

"Not at all, your excellency," he lied.

"Do not be afraid to admit it, my friend," Sadden said, replacing the violin and turning to consider Mattisse and Gore, the sprinter and shieldheart that constituted the remainder of the five wizards he had been entrusted. Of course, Sadden himself held two of their souls inside. "With my newfound abilities, we will be more than a match for one witch and her ordinary friend. But it is good to be nervous, all the same. It is nervousness that makes us careful."

Before the young wizard could respond, a soldier threw open the door to the music room. Sadden flinched momentarily, expecting it to be Elsa and that damned friend of hers.

"What is it, soldier?" He snapped.

"They've made their way into the manor, your excellency! We're trying to fight them off, but –"

"I want every soldier in the building to fall upon them like a cloud of locusts, soldier. That is an order, and I want it executed now," the Lord Insurgent interrupted.

The man hesitated at the doorway. "Will it stop them, your excellency?"

"Of course not," he snapped. "But it will slow them down. Now go!"

The soldier's face paled, but he ran to join the fighting all the same. The last thing he saw was a furious queen before a bolt of ice was put between his eyes.


	32. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 _He took the souls into himself and became Argadon the Soulbinder, a titan with the power of thirteen great wizards. The world broke under his strength._

 _The Seer's Parables_

* * *

Namar Sadden's manor,

Arendelle

January 21st, 1843

"So you have come to end it, then," Namar Sadden said smoothly as Elsa and Hans strode into the music chamber.

Hans's eyes prowled the room, taking in the two men standing guard near the Lord Insurgent and his own cool, confident posture. Something was wrong. Namar Sadden was, by all accounts, a coward. If he was displaying such a level of confidence, he knew something Elsa and Hans did not.

"It is a shame that I have to do so, Namar. My father quite liked you." Elsa's voice was hard. "Though I doubt he knew you for what you really are."

Namar Sadden smiled, if ever so slightly. "Your father was a good man, Elsa. It is unfortunate that you were not quite so willing to trust my judgment as he. After all, I am merely servicing the greater good of this city."

Hans watched the other wizards. They were both men, though one was short and stocky, while the other one was tall and lean. The short man was wearing molded armor and did not appear to carry a weapon. Hans was reminded of one of the first wizards he had ever encountered, back in London.

 _A shieldheart,_ he could practically hear Lady Blackheart's voice reminding him. _They are able to use their magic to defend themselves and those around them from magical and projectile attacks. They usually wear armor, because they can't stop an attack from melee range._ When he had asked why this was the case, thinking it rather arbitrary, she'd mentioned that the denomination for these kinds of wizards was misleading. _They're not really 'shielding' anything, despite their name. Shieldhearts actually possess the power to manipulate the air around them on a minute scale, scattering bullets and magical energy alike. Best get close to one if you want to harm it._

The other wizard, then, would be one who would prevent just that. His powers would be offensive, allowing him to attack recklessly, knowing that the shieldheart would be able to cover his defense. This method of fielding multiple wizards to the same battlefield with complimentary powers was something that the world had not seen since antiquity. It was hideously effective, but wizards were simply too rare these days to be gathered in numbers. Except by the God of Darkness.

"The only being you service is Everdark," Elsa countered. "You are nothing but its pawn."

"Better to be a pawn than to be crushed underneath Everdark's heel, child." Namar Sadden was seated at the room's grand piano, turned to face Elsa and Hans as if they were nothing more than a pair of friends who stopped by to chat whilst he played; his conversational tone fit his manner quite well. "I do not fault you for your failure to recognize Everdark's blessings, child. You simply have not been exposed to them yet. I expect that you will be quite useful to the God of Darkness one day."

Hans felt woefully exposed. He expected the tall wizard to have some sort of ability to fight from range; otherwise, they would not have waited for Elsa and Hans in a large chamber. The grand piano would provide some small amount of cover for the men across the room, but the former prince had nothing to rely upon but Elsa's magic.

"I will never serve your master," Elsa said coldly.

Namar Sadden looked at her for several long moments, reading the queen's face. He shifted his seat and stood, sighing. "Very well. You have bested me once, child, but you will not do so again. This time, you must die."

Hans took that as his cue. With swords drawn, he sprinted across the room towards the men. The tall wizard moved, and then _blurred_ – in half a heartbeat the man was right in front of Hans, thrusting a rapier towards his chest. The former prince threw himself to his knees and twisted his upper body to the side, the point of his foe's blade whizzing past less than an inch from his ear. Hans recovered, throwing himself to his feet and backpedaling to put some space between himself and his opponent.

 _He teleported,_ Hans thought, mind muddled by shock and wonder. _Good God, fighting wizards isn't ever going to get any easier._

He met the duelist again with their blades, and Hans got the distinct feeling that the man was toying with him. The former prince saw it in his opponent's careless posture, in the laconic way that he probed at Hans's defenses. Then the man blurred again, and Hans felt a half-dozen lashes scoring his body all over. He stumbled backwards, frantically warding off the man's attacks, though the blinding speed with which they had come moments before faded again in a heartbeat. Again, the wizard was slow. Methodical.

 _He's not teleporting,_ Hans's brain worked as he fought back the sting of pain, trying to focus on the swordplay. _He can summon bursts of incredible speed – but he isn't able to sustain them for long. He isn't actually a particularly good duelist; if he were, he'd have been able to kill me with that last burst._ What Hans had taken for arrogant toying, was actually a lack of skill. Why would the wizard need to be a proper duelist, after all? The tall man had his powers to carry him to victory.

Realizing that his best hope of victory relied on keeping the wizard from speeding up again, Hans lunged towards him and went on the offensive.

xxx

Across the chamber, Elsa recognized the man beside Namar Sadden as the shieldheart who had defended him in their prison confrontation earlier. As such, she knew that attacking the man outright would be foolish. She turned to Hans and his dueling opponent, locked in a blazingly fast struggle that was hard to track with the eye. Perhaps, if she got closer –

Elsa was struck in the side with a harp. She fell to the ground, seeing stars. Sensing other projectiles being launched at her, she rolled to the side, the hardwood floor splintering as instruments pounded into it. The queen pedaled to her feet and gasped as she saw Namar Sadden holding a longbow fashioned of light, drawn to the ear. He fired the bow at her, the arrow shattering against an instinctive pane of ice.

 _Namar Sadden was a wizard._ Elsa had no idea why he hadn't used his powers before, during their prison confrontation. After all, they were the same as the psion's that she'd fought before –

 _He had a tensing disk._ As Elsa dodged around the room, avoiding the arrows even while ducking away from flying projectiles, she remembered what Hans had told her of the strange instruments. Sadden had gleaned the powers he was now using from the very same wizards that Elsa and Hans had killed nine days ago.

The queen froze a clarinet, launched at her head, in midflight, before turning to the grand piano to see that Namar Sadden was advancing on her, carrying a sword and shield of energy. Though the man was aged, he would still be quite proficient with them; unlike weapons made of steel, his were weightless. He could swing them all night if need be. A whirlwind of projectiles swirled about him as he strode confidently towards her, an arrogant grin on his face.

"I have been given the blessings of Everdark, child. You cannot comprehend the tempest inside of me now. _I am power._ "

He lunged towards her, and Elsa conjured a thick blizzard in the air about herself, disappearing into the flurry and putting distance between them. With the shieldheart protecting him, the Lord Insurgent was untouchable. She needed to get close to him, somehow.

xxx

Hans felt the thrill of battle rising inside of him. There was something indescribably exhilarating about fighting for your life. About controlling your movements precisely, to the fractions of an inch, because even the tiniest of slips could kill you. About unleashing all of the fury in his heart and channeling it into his blades.

Hans was a tempest to match the raging storms of the queen and insurgent across the chamber, a ceaseless drumbeat of sword clangs filling the air as his opponent warded away his attacks. Hans was pushing the wizard back towards the shieldheart, gaining ground with each swing and coming ever-closer to slipping past the man's guard. He was in his rhythm now, fearless, and Hans could taste victory as the man blurred again, only to ward away the former prince's attacks and escape to the back of the chamber.

Hans charged the fleeing wizard. He crossed the intermediary space in a dash, coming within ten feet of the shieldheart and his duelist ally before the piano bench was thrown at him by an unseen hand. Hans hit the ground a moment before it struck him, rolling to his feet only to be taken in the side by one, two, three more projectiles in quick succession. He stumbled sideways and felt a dull thud in his leg as an arrow of light bit into his flesh.

"Hans!" Elsa slid across the floor, making it slick with ice, to a space beside the former prince. She summoned a barrier to protect them for the moment and helped Hans to his feet, glancing at his leg. Sadden's arrow had taken him near the waist, and his leg was bleeding profusely. If it had struck his femoral artery, Hans would likely die. All she could do was stay the bleeding for a time. "This is going to hurt," she said as she froze the wound.

Hans growled in pain, but forced himself to his feet a moment later. There was a loud crunch, and the pair turned to see Namar Sadden swinging a massive hammer at the barrier. Elsa dismissed it a moment before his weapon struck, and the momentum made the Lord Insurgent stumble. Hans lunged towards him and thrust a blade at the older man's neck. Time seemed to slow for a moment. Hans was going to kill him. Elsa could almost see the blade skewering his neck, but –

\- The sprinter blurred again, and his sword turned aside Hans's attack. Frustrated, Elsa threw a bolt of ice at him, but it dissipated into air long before it struck him. In a heartbeat, Hans and the man were dueling again, though this time, they were a far closer match. Hans moved more slowly with his wounded leg, being careful not to put too much pressure on it, lest he collapse.

Elsa's traditional way of fighting was largely useless with the shieldheart guarding Namar Sadden; she needed to do something, and do it fast. _Good thing_ _dad made me take fencing lessons,_ Elsa mused as a sword coalesced in her hand, gleaming silvery-white and emitting a fierce cold. She would be no match for a skilled fighter; she likely wouldn't even stand much of a chance against the sprinter, stripped of his powers. But Namar Sadden was an old man.

An old man with all the powers of two wizards at once, to be sure, but still an old man. Elsa rushed towards him, ducking under a violin, pummeled by a series of other instruments that she wasn't quick enough to dodge. Sadden saw her approach and returned to the sword and shield, his whirlwind growing in intensity. Elsa leapt through his tempest, one hand extended towards him, her sword raised beside her head and parallel to it.

Her sword met his shield with a brilliant flash of light and a crack of energy. Sadden swung his sword at her, and she threw herself out of the way. Elsa twisted about and suddenly Hans swung his sword at her neck. Before she could reach, there was a clang of steel, and the sprinter blurred into form in front of her, his sword stayed by the former prince's. _I almost just lost my head,_ she thought blankly.

There was no time to be frightened. Elsa slipped to the side of the sprinter as Hans lunged at him head-on, earning the man's attention with a series of overhand blows. Powerful and yet easy to deflect, his attacks were obviously intended to create a window for Elsa to land a blow upon him. She dodged inwards, ducking low and plunging her sword into his leg. It gave surprisingly little resistance, her sword sliding in as slick as, well… ice.

The sprinter called out in pain, and stumbled away from Elsa, but it was too late. His guard was down, and before he could regain his posture, Hans threw a shoulder into his neck. The wizard collapsed to the floor, where Hans rammed a blade into his neck, pinning him to the ground. The former prince fluidly turned and stayed a blow from Namar Sadden's sword, twisting his own so that it put some space between them and Elsa.

"Get the shieldheart, Elsa!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Elsa felt the thrill of battle, a kind of primal, predatory instinct that felt pleasure at seeing the fear in the wizard's face as she rushed to him. The armored man cast about wildly, realizing that there would be no escape for him. They were on the third story, so the window would provide no escape, and the only door was beyond the witch advancing on him. Elsa summoned a wall of ice between herself and Namar Sadden. It thudded as objects struck against it, but it held.

She turned to the shieldheart and raised her sword again, holding her body in profile and the sword parallel to her shoulders like her tutors had instructed. _I never thought I'd end up using this part of my education._

"Please, mighty sorceress! Don't kill me!" The shieldheart scrambled to the wall as she prowled forwards, yelping slightly when his back touched it. There was nowhere to run, so he fell to his knees and clasped his hands together. "I'm not like the others! The sprinter's mind was gone, I tell you, but not me! I serve the Dark God from fear, not loyalty!"

He raised his arms before his face and flinched as Elsa came to a halt before him. She hadn't expected this; when King Frederick had dominated her briefly in Corona, she'd assumed that Everdark controlled all of his wizards in much the same way. But this man claimed control of his mind, and that was problematic. She could bring herself to kill someone who'd been truly lost to his power; they simply weren't human anymore. But this…

xxx

Hans twisted again to parry. His leg screamed with pain as he fought Namar Sadden, but he would not give in. The older man did not try to use his telekinesis against the former prince when they were this close; it seemed he'd learned some of the lessons that the man who'd given him the power hadn't. So it came down to swordplay, and that was where Hans ruled supreme. He turned the battle towards himself with every swing of his blades, injured but able to capitalize easily on his opponent's age and lack of experience.

As Sadden frantically deflected blow after blow against his shield, unable to even gain the ground to make an attack, Hans saw the fear growing in his eyes. He was losing, and he knew it.

Namar Sadden deflected the next attack awkwardly; he gave Hans too much time. The former prince stepped forward, locking a leg behind one of Sadden's and twisting. The old man was thrown to the ground, his weapons scattering into the air. Hans had won. Namar Sadden tried to scramble away, but Hans thrust a sword into one of his feet, pinning him down and eliciting a howl of pain.

"I'm a little disappointed, Namar Sadden," Hans said coldly. "I'd hoped for more from you. But you know what? I never do get tired of killing wizards." He was about to ram his sword into the prostrate man's head when movement on the other side of the room caught his eye.

xxx

"Please, oh merciful sorceress, I beg you allow me to live," the shieldheart whimpered, lowering his head towards the ground, clasping his hands before himself as if in prayer.

Elsa looked towards him with distaste. The man groveled before her, making a truly pathetic display. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Hans had defeated Namar Sadden as well. He met her eyes, his expression indiscernible. Elsa released her magic like a pent-up breath, and the wall of ice separating the halves of the room melted away. Rather than feel the triumph she might have expected to, mostly Elsa felt tired.

Tired at knowing that there was a long road ahead.

"Don't kill him, Hans." Elsa said, referring to Namar Sadden even as she made the decision to spare the shieldheart as well. She'd fallen under Everdark's command once, too; who was she to condemn another for doing the same? "He will face a trial for his actions."

"Elsa?" She heard the skepticism in his voice as she turned back to the shieldheart, leaning down to bind his hands with ice. Best not be too reckless, after all.

"I'm sick of taking justice into my own hands, Hans. If I execute Namar Sadden myself, then I have no greater right to lead than he. I'd have earned my throne at the end of a sword. I'm retaking Arendelle, but I'm going to do it the right way." She nudged the shieldheart, who still lay prostrate. "Come now, wizard. I need to bind your hands."

The man drew himself into a kneeling position and punched at Elsa's gut. For a moment, she didn't realize what had happened. Why did he keep his arm at her stomach, why did he twist it? Who was screaming? Elsa felt like her head was underwater.

A gunshot sounded with a bang and then lingered in the air. The shieldheart's head exploded sideways onto the wall, and his muscles reflexively tightened, dragging the knife from Elsa's stomach and widening the red tear. The queen looked down at herself, hands clutched over the wound and rapidly seeping redder. She couldn't feel a thing.

xxx

"Elsa!" Hans cried out as he crossed the room, catching her as she collapsed to the ground. He laid her against the floor, swearing violently as he tried to get her vacant eyes to focus on him. "Stay with me, goddammit!"

Hans knew enough about battlefield injuries from his military days to have a good sense of when one was fatal. She'd been stabbed in the intestines; he could tell that much from the way they spilled out around the ragged edge of the cut. One didn't die simply from a ruptured intestine; blood loss was the real killer with these types of wounds. And Elsa was already growing pale, threatening to lose consciousness.

"Elsa. Listen to me," Hans said, voice growing frantic. "You need to do what you did to my shoulder, to your stomach. Right now. You need to freeze the wound, stop the bleeding. Elsa, please."

He didn't know if she'd understood his words. Hell, he didn't even know if she'd heard him. After a few seconds of nothing, Hans started to tear off one of his sleeves to try to fashion a bandage. One could not simply wrap a tourniquet around the entire lower body. It just didn't work that way. Before he could, however, Elsa's hands grew cold even as they clutched at the stab wound, and frost spread across it, followed by a thicker layer of ice a moment later.

 _Thank God,_ Hans thought, taking a ragged breath as the queen passed into unconsciousness. He'd still need to get her to help, and very quickly, but she was no longer in danger of bleeding out on the floor of Namar Sadden's fucking music room. Hans whirled towards the body of the shieldheart and savagely kicked it. It flopped like a ragdoll over to the wall, the man's shattered head lolling uselessly against a bloody pauldron.

"You fucking coward!" Hans screamed at the dead man, shooting him again, this time in the chest. His armor crumpled, and Hans emptied the rest of his revolver into the same spot until blood oozed through a ragged hole in the steel. Hans didn't feel any better.

"There is great anger within you, young man," Namar Sadden said smoothly. Hans whirled around and saw the man standing, albeit awkwardly, in the center of the room. He held Hans's bloodied sword, torn from his own foot. "As well as great potential. If Elsa will not see reason and join our glorious work, then perhaps you might."

Hans felt a hollow numbness at seeing the wizard standing, ready to keep fighting. He'd beaten the Lord Insurgent. The man was as good as dead, and Hans had let it slip through the cracks. Very well. He really never did tire of killing wizards.

"Fuck yourself," Hans said as he started to make his way closer, sword at the ready. He smoothly assumed an aggressive stance, sword pointed outwards, held one-handed near his right leg. Fluid and ready to move.

Every single instrument in the room threw itself at Hans. Abandoning his stance, the former prince threw himself to the ground, battered and lacerated by a dozen different objects even as he rolled away, avoiding the brunt of the assault. He came back up standing, bleeding from an assortment of cuts.

"Rumor has it that you have a tendency of saying things like that to servants of Everdark," Namar Sadden said with a smile. "Good. I could use a man with passion on my side."

Hans screamed with fury and threw himself at the man, expertly feinting to earn a parry towards Sadden's left side, then dodging to the right and –

\- his blade clanged uselessly against a shield of energy, conjured instantaneously. Hans whipped about, swinging again and again, dodging forwards with his feet, trying to gain an edge. But the wizard was emboldened by Elsa's defeat, and his defense was impenetrable. After a particularly risky swing, Namar Sadden slipped Hans's other blade around the former prince's defense and earned a long gash across his chest.

Hans stumbled backwards, gasping with pain as his uniform grew ever-redder. He was exhausted, he was losing blood, and he was losing time. If Elsa didn't get help very soon, she would die. Hans was losing. Panic beginning to set in, he was forced onto the defensive as the wizard stepped towards him, beginning a series of blows that Hans barely managed to ward away. He was a better duelist than Namar Sadden, but it didn't matter. His resolve was breaking.

Namar Sadden suddenly stepped back from the exhausted man, smiling. "You have been beaten, young man. But I recognize that you fought well, and fought bravely. Please do not make this what it does not need to be. Tonight needn't end with one of us bleeding out onto the ground. It would be a terrible waste."

 _Where is the rest of Elsa's army?_ Hans wondered through a pain-addled mind. _Have they been defeated?_ No, because then reinforcements would have arrived to finish Hans off. But the reverse could not be true, as well. If Elsa's revolutionaries had won, help would have come by now. _How long have we been fighting?_ Though it felt like it had been hours, Hans knew that it had likely been less than five minutes since he and Elsa had entered the chamber.

Killing took hardly any time at all.

Hans tried to conjure up a reply, but the words that came out of his mouth sounded foreign. Unnatural.

"Kill me." He slowly fell to his knees, dropping his sword by the side.

It was over.

"Excuse me?" Namar Sadden considered the fallen man, frowning deeply.

"Kill me. I'll never serve you anyway."

Namar Sadden sighed. "Idealistic until the end, both of you. It's a damn shame, really." He considered Hans's sword twisting his hand to make it glint in the light. Hans's own blood was on that blade. Namar Sadden crossed the room and placed it gently against Hans's shoulder, laying it flat so that with a sweep, he would be beheaded. "Very well, young man. The least I can afford you is the right to choose your own path from this life."

 _I'm sorry, Mallory._ He could almost see her smiling face, even now. Sitting on that bench by the willow. _I've failed. Just like I failed at everything else._ He felt his breath catch as the Lord Insurgent drew back the blade, muscle tensed, ready to swing.

Hans's body became tense as he anticipated the blow, his eyes trying to squeeze shut rather than gaze death in the eye. He forced them to remain open, staring solemnly at the man who'd bested him. The sound of Mallory's laugh toyed at his ears. It was the most beautiful music he'd ever heard. _Maybe I'll see you again._

There was a scream, and a gunshot. And then nothing.

Hans was dragged to his feet, and he vaguely realized that there were arms around him. He saw Namar Sadden's corpse upon the ground, pooling blood from a caved-in head. In a rush, he saw men in the room, heard their voices flood back into his ears.

Kristoff. Hans saw the man standing over Namar Sadden's corpse, holding a smoking rifle by his side. _They'd won. The rebels had won._ Hans heard his own voice screaming at them, waving his arms towards the other end of the room even as he was led away from it.

"Elsa! She needs help! Please, someone help her!"

Kristoff seemed to hear. He crossed the room to kneel beside the queen, murmuring something that couldn't be heard over the din of the chamber. But Hans could see his face. Ashen white. Scared.


	33. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

 _Life blooms from death's soil._

* * *

A Hospice near Sadden's manor,

Arendelle

January 21st, 1843

Novare stood outside the little room, waiting to be let inside. A cold pit gnawed at her stomach with a ceaseless intensity that she hadn't felt for a long time. She tried to sit, but found that she could not, so instead the young magistrate paced the floor. Anna cradled herself in a nearby chair, knees tucked up to her chest with her arms around them. A childlike pose, really.

The door opened, and the girls let out a collective gasp, turning towards the doctor. He wore a bloodstained smock that made Novare's heart lurch, and he slowly removed a pair of gloves as he considered the two young women.

"Doctor?" Novare couldn't bring herself to ask the question they all were thinking.

The man sighed. "Her majesty is not in good shape. She lost a lot of blood, and her intestines were damaged badly. I've managed to stitch her back together, but I can't do much more."

"Are you saying –" Anna began but did not finish, a cold sweat overtaking her.

"I'm saying that I've seen cases like this before, princess, and the patient doesn't make it very often. She's probably going to die."

Novare felt as if she'd been slapped. For a few seconds, the world seemed to spiral about her; she found a chair and sunk into it, the doctor's words burning like coals in her ears. Novare heard Anna's gasp as if it were a room away.

"You may go in to see her, if you like. I imagine that you'd like to spend some time with her."

The doctor looked around the empty hallway, save for these two girls, as if he didn't know quite where to go now. Which was probably true. He didn't want to intrude on their privacy, but normally during times like this, the doctor would speak with a person in the queen's cabinet and begin mutually drafting a press release about the monarch's condition. Given the circumstances, there was no such person present, and the doctor simply nodded to them and walked off down the hall.

Novare met Anna's eyes, brushed with tears and haunted. Her own looked much the same. They stepped into the little chamber and made their way around a table laden with instruments towards the queen's bed. Elsa was not conscious, though she still breathed softly, her chest moving up and down in shallow, irregular bursts. Her body was bandaged in numerous places, most so across the abdomen. These linens were stained dark with blood.

"Oh, Elsa," Anna murmured forlornly as she took the chair nearest the bed, slowly brushing her sister's cheek.

Novare wandered to the foot of the bed, pushing up her glasses. She wore them today because it suddenly seemed silly to worry about how she looked in them. There were far bigger things to care about in the world. It didn't seem to make sense to her that Elsa was dying. The queen had always seemed to be immortal. She wasn't just a human, like everyone else. Elsa was a force of nature, a kind of creature that only graced the earth a few times each millennium and left those around her in a wake of stunned awe.

It shouldn't be like this.

Novare knelt beside the princess and took Elsa's hand, feeling a cold dread, the kind that made her mind spiral. The young magistrate found herself sinking into despair, her mind starting to blank. _No._

 _No, Elsa can't die._ Novare felt her entire body growing cold, save a strange warmth in her core. It felt surreal, as if she was looking down upon herself from a great distance. _My entire life, I've been a coward. All I do is run away. I finally started to change that when you came into my life, Elsa. You made me a better person._

 _When I tried to walk in your shoes, I went farther. I need you._

Anna gasped, a sudden shock as if Novare's head had been plunged underwater. Novare looked at her arms with shock, her brain working slowly. _My arms are glowing._ Soft wisps of light trailed from her skin, a warm glow that made her tingle.

"Odette, what –" Anna stammered, eyes wide.

Suddenly, everything was clear to Novare. She knew what she had to do as if she'd been waiting her whole life to do it. She reached out and placed her hands against Elsa's breast, feeling the warm glow inside whip into a blazing hearth. Novare gasped, breath trailing light into the air as she _pushed_ the glow onto Elsa. The light encircled the queen and began to emit from her abdomen with a fierce intensity, knitting together across the wound.

Anna gasped again and raised a hand to her mouth as Novare did her work, moving about to mend Elsa's wounds, one by one. This… this was magic. Slowly, the light began to fade from the room. Once it was gone, the room seemed faded and dull, though it was still early and the sun outside shone brightly.

"Odette…" Anna crept nervously over to where Novare had slumped into a chair, breathing heavily. "You're a witch, too?"

Novare slowly looked down at her arms. They seemed dark now, no longer trailing light. She didn't know how to answer that question. _I may have answered that question differently fifteen minutes ago, actually._ It seemed that she was.

"I guess so," she said lamely, feeling exhausted. When was the last time she'd eaten?

Anna's reply never came, because a moment later, Elsa stirred. The princess gasped and threw her arms around her sister, pulling her into a tight embrace. Elsa's eyes roamed around the room, settling on Novare after a moment.

"Wha- what happened?" Elsa extricated herself from her sister's arms and smiled, wiping a tear from Anna's eye and. "The last thing I remember, I was in Namar Sadden's manor… I'd gotten stabbed. I thought I was a goner."

To punctuate her sentence, she glanced at her abdomen and slowly palpated it with barely a wince. "I don't even feel anything."

Anna immediately turned to Novare. "Odette…"

"I don't know how, but I used magic, Elsa. I healed you." Novare found herself looking for that inner fire, and was surprisingly sad to find that she couldn't find it again. Was that it? Would she only ever use magic this one time? Did it even work that way? "I had no idea."

Well, that wasn't exactly true. But now wasn't the time to worry about something like that.

Elsa sat up and gazed intensely at her, smiling after a few seconds. "Every time that I think I have you figured out, Odette, you go ahead and surprise me anyway."

Novare blushed. "It wasn't really that special, I mean –"

Elsa reached out to shush the young magistrate, raising an eyebrow to pair with her signature, cocked smile. "And I find that oh-so-very attractive."

Now she really blushed. Anna was right there, after all.

"I owe you my life, Odette," Elsa said, taking her hands. "Thank you."

Anna suddenly turned around. Novare glanced over at her, wondering what was happening. Hands cupped either side of her face and turned it towards Elsa, and then they were kissing. It was wonderful.

However long it lasted, it wasn't long enough before Anna coughed and turned back around. "Well, would you look at that, Hans has arrived."

Novare yelped and pulled away, turning even redder, if possible, before turning to the doorway and seeing the tall, roguish man leaning against the frame, smiling crookedly. He chuckled.

"Well, I came here worried about Elsa's life. It's nice to see that not only were my fears evidently unfounded, she's kept busy while I'm gone."

"Hans," Elsa chided sternly, though she smiled. Her demeanor changed a moment later. "Thank you. I also owe my life to you." She laughed. "Seems it's that way with a lot of people these days."

Anna crossed her arms and nodded to Elsa, quietly excusing herself from the room and walking away. Novare glanced after her, confused. Hans walked across the room and placed a hand on Elsa's shoulder as she tried to stand.

"Lay down, your majesty," Hans laughed lightly again. From up close, Novare could see how tired his eyes were. How long had it been since that man had slept? "No use in getting better just to make it worse again, traipsing all around and tearing stitches out."

Elsa looked at Novare questioningly. The young magistrate shrugged. She didn't really care if Hans knew. Though she didn't know this man well, Elsa trusted him completely, and that was enough. Before either woman could speak, however, Hans turned to Novare and smiled wistfully.

"To answer your unspoken question, by the way, I have a bit of a past with Elsa's family. Bad blood, actually. I've spent a great deal of time repaying my debt to Elsa, but I haven't had much time to prove my worthiness to her sister recently."

So that's why she'd left the room as soon as he arrived. Novare wondered what it could be, but she supposed that she shouldn't be surprised, really. Elsa had told her that Hans was once a Prince of the Southern Isles, though apparently he had reneged the position. Europe's royalty was interconnected through elaborate strings of relationships, the comprehension of which was daunting to even an avid scholar like herself. Novare considered the former prince. There was far more to him than she'd been told.

"I suppose you'd be interested to know how I managed to heal from such a nasty wound so quickly, aren't you?" Elsa said.

"Matter of fact, I was about to get around to that, yes."

"Odette saved me," Elsa said, smiling broadly. "She used healing magic to mend my wounds."

Hans turned to her, taken aback. Novare hated being the center of attention, and she wilted underneath his inquisitive stare.

"You're a healer? Like Rapunzel?"

Novare thought slowly. _Rapunzel? She's a royal, from somewhere._ Political science lessons floated at the back of her mind. She'd never heard the word 'healer' thrown around in those lessons before. Once again, she realized that the world was a bigger place than she'd imagined it to be.

"Um, well… I didn't really know what I was doing. I've never done this before." Intentionally. Well, this time wasn't intentional, either. Publicly. _That's better._

Hans continued to gaze at her. She could tell that he smelled a lie. Novare hadn't ever been any good at lying. However, after a few moments he clapped her shoulder and smiled.

"Well this is a stroke of luck! We're very lucky to have your talents around, Odette." She sighed in relief, and Hans turned to Elsa. "I'd like to speak to you alone, for a moment, if you please."

Novare was relieved to take the chance to excuse herself from the room.

xxx

"Okay, wonderboy, you should know that I'm not an expert at dark magic," Hades said as Hans removed his shirt, sitting on a stone operating table. He was coming to spend an altogether uncomfortable amount of time on these things.

Hans snorted.

"What? Why is that funny?" Hades glanced over his shoulder, head flickering in the dimly lit room.

"You're the Lord of Hell, and you say you're not good with dark magic."

"I've gotten some pretty poor PR over the years, Hans. Seems every generation there are more misconceptions about how evil I am."

"You'll forgive me the mistake," Hans said, smirking. "Perhaps it's the occupation that's throwing me off."

"That's what I don't get," Hades said, standing over a table laden with instruments. He picked up a thin needle and twisted it about in his hand, causing it to glint in the light. One of his servants, clad in the mask of gold and lapis lazuli, batted the god's hand away and pointed, indicating that he should go sit somewhere that wasn't bothersome. He scowled, but did as ordered, wandering across the room to sit on a bench.

"You wouldn't assume that an executioner enjoys killing, just because that's his job, would you?"

Hans frowned as one of the zombies measured the length from his sternum to his waist. "Actually, that's exactly what I'd do. I'm pretty sure everyone does."

Hades scowled again. "Well, it's stupid. I didn't even pick this job."

Hans smirked as he glanced over at the petulant god. Something was bothering him, and he was moody because of it.

"Are you worried?"

"No." Hades crossed his arms. "Yes. I'm worried that the operation will go poorly, and it'll kill you. I don't want to have to train another servant. You've been so terribly productive."

Hans turned to face forwards, as instructed by one of the zombies. This one began to lather a soft, white cream onto his chest and upper abdomen. He glanced down, only to raise his chin again when it was prodded back up. The substance was cool, made his skin numb.

"And, well, you know, I've come to think of you as something of a friend."

Hans smirked again. One of the undead servants bade him lay down while the other retrieved two vials of deep red from the instrument table. Blood of the sprinter and of the shieldheart. There were only two servants present today, but Lady Blackheart would be leading the operation. She had more experience with dark magic than anyone else in Hades's temple, and as such she was tasked with learning the tensing ritual.

She hadn't arrived yet; she had spent much of the morning preparing an elaborate admixture to combine with the blood. The result would then be injected into Hans's liver, from where it would cycle into his bloodstream. He couldn't help but notice that his breathing was starting to increase as he stared at the featureless stone ceiling.

He'd have assumed, if told idly about a tensing ritual, that it would involve the disk itself, located in his abdomen. But apparently it only acted as a container, of sorts, collecting the soul from the blood that was given to him. The entire process made him uncomfortable, but he'd made this bed himself, so now Hans would lie in it. He heard the footsteps that announced Lady Blackheart's arrival.

She swept into the room, looking imperious as always, holding a steaming cauldron.

"How are we doing today, Hans?" Lady Blackheart set the pot down on the instrument table and accepted the vials of blood from one of the zombies, uncorking them and emptying them into it.

"Oh, you know," he responded. "Can't complain too much."

She smiled. "Good. You're not so nervous that you've lost your poor sense of humor." The witch turned to glance at Hades, still sitting nervously on the nearby bench. "I am ready to proceed as soon as you are, master."

He waved his hand in response. "Alright, then, let's get on with it." He glanced over at Hans. "I mean, if Hans is ready."

"As I'll ever be." He shifted a bit, but one of the zombies placed a hand on his shoulder, nudging him back into place. It's like they expected him to try and bolt for an exit. He didn't necessarily blame them.

"Alright, then," Lady Blackheart said, taking a long needle and sticking it into the cauldron, drawing the unholy admixture into the thin cavity inside it. The zombies retrieved their operating knives and took their places to either side of the former prince, ready to start as soon as she gave the order. "Begin."

Hans felt that strange, painless tugging that marked the knives biting his flesh. He took a deep breath and focused on the ceiling as the operation began, the undead servants working with quick, exacting precision that would be impossible from a human. They peeled his skin away around the ribcage, and then retrieved metal pliers.

They broke the ribs around his heart with efficiency. Hans was reminded of his uncomfortable first operation in these chambers. He realized with a start that he no longer had a heart. It had taken him quite a while to realize, but suddenly he was very aware of the fact. He still had a pulse, however. Wherever that mason jar holding his heart was sequestered in Hades's palace, it was still connected to him, somehow. He still felt no pain, which was good. He forced himself to focus on the ceiling, counting the number of stones in each row, and then double-checking. Then triple-checking.

"Alright, Hans, we've reached your liver. I'm about to inject you." Lady Blackheart stepped into place.

"Is it going to hurt?" Hans said, trying not to betray his fear.

"Probably." Lady Blackheart started to lower the needle towards him.

"Great."

Hans felt a sudden prick, and then a surge of fire into his bloodstream. He convulsed dramatically, writhing once into the arms of the servants, who forced him back down onto the table. Hans felt his entire body burning, and he cried out with pain, twisting his head to see his entire chest cut open. The image of his body laid bare burned into his mind as he passed into unconsciousness.

xxx

It was on the first of February that Hans departed. He had meant to leave far earlier, but there were endless celebrations in Arendelle to herald the return of the Rightful Queen, and it was all too easy to get swept up in them. So when the markets finally started to empty, and the ships in port were accruing barnacles from sitting too long, and when all the dearly departed had been honored twice over, it was finally time to go.

The operation had worked, near as he could tell. It would take Hans time to master his new powers, but he'd had Elsa throw little pellets of ice at him, and if he concentrated hard enough, they just… missed. Disappeared, into thin air. He wasn't really sure how to speed up, like the other wizard, yet, but he was going to keep working at it. Elsa assured him that this was the kind of thing that took years to master. She was still learning.

He wore a traveling coat with the collar flipped upwards against the chill, met only by Elsa herself on the docks early that morning. She wore a riding getup and a cloak on top, deftly hiding her identity from others so as not to draw a crowd. She'd been drawing a lot of those in public lately, what with people calling her 'Arendelle's savior,' and all. She was beginning to tire of all that. Perhaps the only thing that would reveal her identity to a deft observer was that her choice of attire would be wholly insufficient to ward away the day's chill. It truly was bitter today.

Hans turned to glance at the sea, nearly blinded by the sun cresting over the horizon. The massive hulk of a ship rocked slowly in the sea beside him. She had been chartered to set sail for the Southern Isles, with a small crew that were used to discreet employment. Her name was the _Godspeed._

"You tried to kill me, once." Elsa wasn't sure why that was the first thing she decided to say. She supposed that she wasn't very good at goodbyes, especially not to those she'd grown fond of. She squinted up at him as he turned around.

"And you repaid the favor in kind," he said with humor in his voice. The sun illuminated the queen brilliantly, her hair like molten silver, her eyes fathomless pools of blue. He'd thought her beautiful three years ago, when he'd tried to kill her. He still thought she was, but it was different now. It was hard to explain why.

"I hope this isn't a goodbye forever, Hans."

"And I will not cease to remind you that it won't be, your majesty. We'll see each other again soon, I think. If for no other reason, than because we still fight for the same cause."

Hans studied her face, and found something unexpected in her eyes. "You… you are going to keep fighting Everdark, won't you?"

Elsa glanced to the side, crossing her arms. She turned back to him. "I'm a queen, Hans. I have a nation to lead. And I'm not going to give it up so easily again. So… I don't know. I know that it's still out there, gathering power. But I have to make choices.

"When I'm fighting against Everdark, I'm just one person. No matter how hard I fight, I'll always be outnumbered. As the Queen of Arendelle, I'm actively changing people's lives for the better. With one stroke of a pen I can do more than ten witches throwing icicles at bad guys. I'll never stop using my powers to protect the people that I love, but I can't gallivant around the world looking for its followers."

Hans worked his jaw for a moment before responding. "Something tells me that Everdark won't make you wait long before you're pulled back into this again. But yes. Lead your nation. Be a queen."

Hans clapped her on the shoulder, and he realized for the first time that he was going to miss her. They weren't perfect company, to be sure, and they had a rocky past, to say the least. But repeatedly saving each other's life did a lot to foster a friendship.

"I suppose that it's my turn to offer you some advice," Elsa said, more seriously than Hans would have expected. "You haven't explicitly told me why you're returning to the Southern Isles, but I can make an educated guess."

"Elsa, this isn't your fight." Hans tried not to let his voice carry emotion, but it did. Far too much of it.

"And I won't tell you how to end it, Hans. But this is about more than that. Vengeance may bring you satisfaction, but it won't cleanse your soul. You made the right decision before."

Hans smiled in a way that really just masked a grimace. "I think I'll settle for vengeance at this point."

Elsa sighed, but she wasn't surprised. Hans was not the cruel, vindictive man who had tried to kill her and her sister, but he was also not the noble hero that he had become. In truth, he was something of both, and each half still had power over him. It was up to him to choose which half to listen to. Elsa hoped that one day, he'd stop listening to one of them, but that day was not today.

"Fare thee well, Hans Westergaard. I will see you again sooner than we expect, and yet not soon enough. May the winds watch over you."

"And may the sea guide you home," Hans said, completing the traditional farewell that Arendanes used at the beginning of a long voyage. Elsa smiled. She hadn't expected him to know it. "Farewell, Elsa."

He started up the gangplank, taking a deep breath of the salty sea air. The sailors onboard were striking up the cacophony of shouts that marked the preparations for sailing, and the former prince cast one last glance over his shoulder, raising a hand in farewell. Elsa's mouth moved, but he didn't make out the words.

"What?" Hans called, striding to the rail and leaning over it.

"You have a noble heart," she called back.

Hans took a sharp breath.

 _You have a noble heart._

He lowered his hand slowly and turned to face the sun.


	34. Interlude - Elsa

For newer readers:

First of all, thank you for sticking with this story so long! I know that it's probably unlike any Frozen fanfiction you've read before, but we like to think of that as a good thing here ;). If you're interested in continuing on, The Trials of Light and Darkness Saga is far from over! TLD marks the first novel in a three-part trilogy that continues to chronicle Hans and Elsa's epic struggle against the darkness!

Following this fanfiction is the short story _A Curse of Destiny,_ which does a lot of ground work establishing the canon for the series!

After that, follow along with TLD2: _Words of the Protector_ , both of which are already available!

May the sea guide you home.

xxx

Interlude – Elsa

 _These past months have been some of the best of my life. Rebuilding the kingdom is difficult, but it's honest work. For the first time since I entered that monastery in Bavaria, I don't feel like a specter looms over all that I do. I am not so naïve that I would assume Everdark has truly been bested once and for all, but for the time being I am content to be a queen to my people, and nothing else._

 _Elsa's diary_

* * *

Sadden's manor,

Arendelle

May 15th, 1843

Nearly four months had passed since the revolution took back Arendelle and since Hans's departure. The palace burned, Elsa, Anna, and their considerable staff were forced to relocate to the only unoccupied dwelling of suitable accoutrement for a royal family: Namar Sadden's manor. At first it was less than pleasant to live in, and certainly not to try to make into a home, but once all of the traces of the man who had once lived there had been removed, the Gothic building came into its own with a sort of antique charm.

The palace would be rebuilt, eventually, but Elsa had not the lack of conscience to commission such a cumbersome and expensive task until some semblance of order had been restored to a city that had seen more than its share of tumult of late. Life went on, and for a bit it started to seem like things were back to the way they were. It was easy to forget the terrors of the past months when galvanized by the common goal of recalling the city of Arendelle to life.

Mid-May came about, and with it the single largest event of pomp and circumstance since Elsa's coronation. It was finally time for Anna and Kristoff to be wed. For weeks leading up to the big day itself (chosen to be the fifteenth, for the sages had foreseen good fortune for couples married that day), dignitaries from all around Europe and the larger globe flocked in to herald the occasion. Sadden's manor was not quite large enough to provide space for them all, so those closest to the royal family (such as the Coronan royals) were given rooms, while the others brought a deluge of business to the city's finest inns.

The wedding of Arendelle's beautiful young princess was bound to be a well-attended event, and the scandal of her choice to marry a common man made it a veritable spectator sport. In attendance was King Leopold I of the Belgians, Christian VIII of Denmark, Ferdinand I of Austria, Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia, Louis Phillipe I of France, Isabella II of Spain, Queen Victoria and Sir Robert Peel of Great Britain and Ireland, all with their spouses and important family members in tow. Such was the general excitement that even the President of the United States, John Tyler, elected to come. He was later blasted by American newspapers for engaging in what was seen as 'fraternization with the Europeans,' but to his deathbed he spoke with a kind of quiet awe of the 'great hospitality of the fine Arendanes.'

The wharfs were full of foreign sails, and the streets were abuzz with foreign tongues. By the time the fifteenth finally arrived, it seemed that anyone who mattered in all the western world was packed into the city. Notably absent was anyone at all from the Southern Isles or Weselton, whom Elsa had still not forgiven for the debacle of three years earlier.

The wedding itself was certainly the most spectacular event of the European socialite's year, perhaps even the decade. The fifteenth began with a reveille of trumpets and a twenty-one-cannon salute; promptly at eight a festival sprung up throughout all the streets of the city, centered around Sadden's manor. There were all manner of exotic fruits and meats, fire-blowers, sword-swallowers, and an army troupe of magicians (the kind that used trickery instead of real magic). There were caricaturists and wits who sat on every street corner, insulting everyone who came too close. Rumor has it to this day that Queen Victoria was 'mistaken' for a burlesque girl by one, given the twenty-four-year-old's pretty face and colorful dress.

There was food enough to give away, and by Elsa's proclamation it was; turkeys and mince pies and other fine things were given to every family who cared to take one. Social strata seemed to melt away in this city full of people who had never met before; even the poor put on their Sunday best and joined in the parades, fat and happy with expensive things.

The ceremony itself occurred at two in the afternoon in the Saint Adelaide Cathedral, presided over by Bishop Jean-Baptiste Clement and Elsa herself. The Cathedral had been repainted expressly for the occasion, and beautiful frescoes and murals stood out in high relief, brushed with silver and gold. Anna's dress was a beautiful thing, with a fitted bodice and several skirts, embroidered sleeves and a twenty-foot train of pure white silk. It went on to define wedding fashion among European elites for years to come.

Kristoff himself looked such a fine gentlemen that many who had come to see the spectacle of a royal married to a common man forgot he was anything less than a prince. He wore a double-breasted coat of a midnight blue, almost black, with a teal vest, to complement Anna's hair and match her eyes. His cravat was tied expertly and jet black, his hair cut and combed like a far wealthier man's. Kristoff would later say that he hardly felt like himself, dressed up like that, but it made quite the impression on Europe's elite.

Their vows were simple and very traditional, with simple 'I do's bookending either side. Their kiss was passionate, something that might have been considered taboo were they not both young and beautiful. As it was, the ceremony brought a tear to the eye of even the stoniest hearts in attendance.

The evening of the ceremony was the reception, and it is there we will return to our heroes directly.

xxx

The tuba abruptly cut off the end of the waltz, and the violinists hurriedly struck up an airy number for the royal couple's first dance. Elsa stood near the head of the chamber, as befitted the host of such a party, and she smiled as she nudged Anna towards the center of the floor, where Kristoff was bowing to her. The couple was positively alight with happiness, and Anna bounced over to her newlywed husband. They entered each others arms and began to sweep across the floor, other couples moving out to join them after the guidance was set.

"It's been a lovely ceremony, through and through," Novare said, standing beside Elsa and holding a glass of deep claret.

"It's nice to see her so happy. She hasn't been like this in a while," Elsa said wistfully.

"It's about time we had a change of pace." Novare smiled and brushed Elsa's side as she turned to gaze across the room. Elsa caught her hand, briefly, before letting go. "Oh. Arno's headed over. He has someone with him."

Elsa turned to follow Novare's gaze, distracted only for a moment by the pretty gold ball gown that she wore, to see Montaigne striding across the room with another man of about his age, bald and wise-looking. Elsa stepped around her young magistrate, and inclined her head to them both.

"Master Montaigne. To whom do I have the pleasure of being introduced?"

"I'm not quite sure, miss," Montaigne said with a wry smile. "He told me that he'd rather wait to speak to you directly. Given as you're quite capable of defending yourself, if need be, we decided to grant him this request."  
The man nodded respectfully to Montaigne and then bowed sweepingly to Elsa, adjusting his tie as he came up again. Elsa motioned to Montaigne that he may leave.

"I do not fault you for failing to recognize me, Elsa Siguror," the man said in a deep, rasping voice that she found shockingly familiar. "The last time you saw me, I had not shaven in quite some time. Also, I believe that I was wearing the robes of a monk."

"Wulfric Shaw," Elsa realized with wonderment, her eyes widening. Novare started as well, still standing adjacent to the queen. "What are you doing here?"

"I come for many reasons," he said. "Not least of which is to give my regards to the princess and her new husband. I wish them both the best. With regards to yourself, I have come to offer you a gift."

"A gift? What… I thought you were the only keeper of that monastery," Elsa said, confused. "Is it left alone?"

"Yes. Though it was protected with strong and ancient magics, it was not sufficiently protected against the renewed strength of Everdark. I destroyed everything that the Dark God could have used against humanity, and fled. I am sure that by now it has been scoured by Everdark's forces, and the Dark God has been disappointed to discover little of use. Before you ask the question on your lips, Elsa Siguror, I will tell you that I am a variety of wizard known colloquially as a 'chronicler.' You already knew that I was a wizard, but you did not know exactly what, I imagine. I cannot forget anything I have learned. The words of the ancients live on."

Shaw smiled as Elsa closed her mouth, the question unasked. "For some five months now I have been in Arendelle, keeping an eye on your progress, Elsa Siguror."

"Five months?" Elsa said in wonderment. "Why didn't you reveal yourself to me earlier? And what do you mean by progress?"  
Shaw's eyes twinkled merrily. "As the condor once said to the owl, Elsa Siguror, 'my, but you have many questions.'"

"I only ask questions that you have raised."

"Of course," Shaw said. "I merely jest. I will answer both of your questions at once, I think, with a bit of exposition."

Novare glanced at Elsa, and she looked about, picking up the girl's meaning. "Perhaps we should retire somewhere more private to hold this discussion."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Elsa Siguror," the wizened monk said. "Look about yourself."

Elsa did, and to her great shock she realized that no music was playing. Everyone in the room was frozen in place. It was as if time itself was standing still. Elsa turned her gaze back to the monk and opened her mouth again, but again Shaw had anticipated her question.

"Worry yourself not with the mechanics of our conversation, Elsa Siguror. Just know that we will not be heard by prying ears, and that there is more to the world than perhaps meets your eye. In any case, I was about to begin my tale."

Novare and Elsa nodded in unison.

"Our story begins several months ago, in late September of 1842. Namar Sadden hosted a party at his manor, one which yourself and most of Arendelle's elite attended. You remember this?"

"Yes."

"You remember, of course, that during the course of the party, you and your magistrates retired to a smoking-chamber for a private discussion on the particulars of the platform that you would be advancing in November?"

Elsa did, but only hazily. Though at the time it had seemed so innocent, her mind was beginning to churn.

"Namar Sadden insisted on holding a toast to your health, you remember. He rung for a servant to bring in drinks, expecting his master servant Marcius Ferrero to respond. You might even be keen enough to remember an instant of ill-concealed anger when he found your own Arno Belgold Montaigne was the man who arrived instead."

Elsa glanced over at her master servant, standing frozen nearby, gazing towards Anna and Kristoff with a small smile. "So you're saying…"

"I am saying that it is somewhat unlikely that your man realized he was confounding an assassination attempt, Elsa Siguror, but that is exactly what happened. Sadden had planned before with Ferrero to place a very rare, extremely slow-acting poison into just one of the goblets, one which would be indicated in such a way that Sadden would recognize it.

"Ferrero is a drinking man. If you wonder how I know the story I am telling you, it is because I managed to loosen his tongue with drink recently. I would advise you to treat him kindly. He is rather simple, and it was out of loyalty to his master, rather than hatred of you, that he agreed to play a part in this affair. But in any case, I digress. It was exactly this alcoholism that had Ferrero indisposed on that fateful night, and your excellent Montaigne, being ever-so chivalrous, volunteered to deliver the drinks that Ferrero had prepared long before.

"Of course, Namar Sadden could not recognize the one goblet that had been poisoned from the rest, so he had only to distribute them and hope for the best. It would look far too suspicious and contrived to do anything else. You might recall that he didn't seem to drink much, himself. I suspect that he only pretended to drink at all."

"Agatha Merke ended up with the poisoned glass," Elsa said, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears. The poor woman.

Shaw nodded solemnly. "Yes, the unfortunate lady drew the short straw. Of course, she had no idea as to the Chief Magistrate's plans, and she did have a certain fondness for the particular champagne that Sadden had chosen that evening.

"After the attempt on your life was botched so, Sadden was forced to redraw his time frame. As soon as Merke's health began to fail, and it became clear to him that she was the one who had been poisoned, he began to take the steps to obfuscate the details of her death. He had hoped that you would not show a great interest in Merke's death, occupied as you were with the upcoming platform.

"Of course, he did not have much time to cover his tracks, and when you started your investigation, he convinced my old pupil to try to kill you. I think he underestimated your abilities, for the man Sadden sent after you was no wizard, as you no doubt recall. It was through my last pupil, of course, that Sadden learned of Everdark and first entered the God of Darkness's service."

At the end of this recounting, Shaw took a glass off the tray of a nearby waiter, frozen in place. He took a sip of wine and made a small noise of satisfaction.

"I trust that I have not illuminated anything, just now, that you find surprising."

"You're right," Elsa acceded. "I may not have guessed all of that myself, but it _is_ the most logical explanation."

"I will continue. When first you arrived at my monastery, I asked myself a very important question, one that I will reiterate for you: why did you, of all people, find me first? Well, certainly because one of Everdark's minions tried to kill you, and on his deathbed reconciled and gave away a crucial bit of information regarding my location. Which begs the next question, 'why did Everdark order my old student to go to Arendelle?'"

Shaw gazed at Elsa as if she must hold the answer.

"Because Elsa is important," Novare said quietly. The others turned to look at her, and she blushed before continuing. "I mean, we can't be sure, but that's what it would seem to be. The very first person, to our knowledge, that Everdark pursued upon its return was Elsa. That must mean she's more important that just any other wizard."

"Precisely," Shaw said, eyes twinkling. "Precisely. Everdark spends time winning powerful allies such that it can engineer your assassination or domination, Elsa. Before focusing its efforts anywhere else, we might add."

Elsa shifted uncomfortably. "But how? How could it even know I existed?"

"That is a story which is not mine to tell, Elsa Siguror, but it is one which involves your father. I encourage you to speak with your master servant afterwards to parse his memory on the matter. In the meantime, suffice it to say that after I made these deductions, I became convinced that you _are_ the hero who will save us from the darkness."

Elsa gulped. "What? No, I'm –"

"In the ancient past, when first Everdark assaulted our world, one hero stood against its might. One hero rescued humanity and brought back the light. One hero inscribed their story on the Keeper's Stele, foretelling that one day, such a hero would come again."

"But that's ridiculous," Elsa said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "How could I ever defeat Everdark alone if I can't even beat its servants without Hans's help?"

"Just because one person must lead the charge, Elsa Siguror, does not mean they must charge alone," Shaw said sagely. "You are destined to guide humanity, not fight its battles by yourself."

"I'm no chosen one," Elsa insisted again, looking about the chamber and suddenly feeling annoyed that everyone else was frozen. It served to make her stand out, isolating her when she wanted to blend in. "Really. I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong person."

"I am not so sure of that," Shaw said. "But I understand that your duty will take some time to grow accustomed to. That is why I offer you a gift."

"A gift," Elsa repeated, her mind snapping back to the start of their conversation. Though he'd mentioned it first just two minutes or so before, it felt longer. Her mind felt buzzed.

Shaw removed his jacket and drew a weathered leather scabbard from a loop of cloth on the inside back. He twisted it towards her, revealing a strange script cut into its surface. Four lines of the stuff stared boldface back at Elsa in a language that she sensed had not been used for millennia.

"The Keepers were founded to protect more than just knowledge, Elsa Siguror. Perhaps even more important is our sacred duty to guard the object which I know bequeath to you."

Elsa tentatively took the scabbard from his outstretched hands. The leather was soft and ancient, the thin twine tying the sides together frayed. She ran her finger along the writing, feeling the script's bumps and ridges. It did not use any alphabet she knew.

"What is this?"

"It is said that you hold the scabbard which once belonged to the sword used by the Hero of Antiquity who saved humanity from Everdark the first time. The script is the Hero's pledge, a series of four tenets to live by if one wishes to be pure enough to defeat the God of Darkness."

"What are the tenets?" Elsa said, turning to allow Novare to touch the scabbard. Elsa knew that she would be fascinated by the relic.

"I do not know," Shaw said. "None alive can read the script. It was the writing of the Celestians, the ancient civilization that was home to the Hero. Though there were once many great libraries with works in this language, they were all destroyed during Everdark's sundering of the world. This scabbard bears the only remainder of the forgotten tongue. However, it is prophesied that the next Hero will understand again the tenets of the Hero's Pledge."

Elsa looked down at the scabbard, and in spite of her own protests, found herself trying to make sense of the words. She could not.

"Then I'm definitely not your Chosen One. I can't read this."

"One does not expect the wise man to be born with his head already filled with knowledge," the old monk said. "We must each learn to walk in the shoes that the world has given us. I ask you not to accept the part immediately, Elsa Siguror. I ask you only to keep the scabbard, and to open your mind. Perhaps the words will come to you."  
Shaw bowed, signaling that this was meant to end the conversation. "That is all I beg of you, Elsa."

Elsa felt Novare's eyes on her. She slowly nodded and replied, "Alright, Shaw. I accept your gift. I will try to learn these words." She handed the scabbard to Novare, and turned to address her. "Please take this to my chambers, Odette. Use the servants' hallway; you'll avoid prying eyes that way."

Novare nodded, accepting the weathered leather sheath.

The old monk smiled. "Thank you, Elsa Siguror."

Suddenly, movement and noise sped up, the room full of people springing back into motion and conversation as if nothing at all had happened. Music filled the air again, and the dancing continued. Montaigne stepped over to the queen and indicated for her attention.

"Excuse me, miss, but I do believe that the President of the United States and his wife are trying to win your attention." He subtly indicated to where they stood nearby, looking very out-of-place amongst a crowd of European royalty, shooting glances over to her every now and again.

Elsa laughed lightly. "Of course I'll introduce myself, just give me a second to say goodbye to –"

Elsa trailed off as she turned to where Wulfric Shaw had been standing just moments before. He was already gone. Elsa shook her head after a moment and strode over to the Americans, smiling broadly and nodding to them.

xxx

Later that night, Elsa sat on the edge of her bed, the curtains draw back so that she could stare at the scabbard, stood up on a hastily constructed stand set on her dresser. Her mind was restless. She felt a strange and new discomfort waiting for Montaigne to arrive, one that had taken a few moments to recognize. The familiar sound of Anna's snoring through the wall between their rooms was missing. Understandably, the newlyweds had wanted a room a bit more private.

Elsa stood up and started pacing again, pinching the bridge of her nose and realizing with a start that her headaches were back. For these last few months of peace, she'd been graced with a reprieve from the familiar, splitting affliction that muddled her thoughts.

 _Where is Montaigne, anyway? I sent for him, what…_ Elsa looked at the expensive standing clock set against her wall. _Four minutes ago?_ She hissed, irritated. The longest way for Elsa to spend time was on her own thoughts, it seemed.

 _There's no rest for the wicked,_ Hans's voice seemed to say in her mind. Elsa hadn't heard from him since the day he left. She knew his task wasn't finished, however, because there hadn't been any news out of the Southern Isles recently. She truly did hope that he had a change of heart and decided to abandon his plans. He wasn't a killer. Not really.

Then again, Elsa didn't fancy herself a killer either, but Everdark had made one of her anyway. After the Great Thaw, Elsa had sworn to use her powers only for good. She would not use magic unless the world was a better place for it. Now she wasn't even having second thoughts about pushing a spear of ice into someone's brain if they stood too long in her way.

Elsa heard a spectral echo. Perhaps it was the souls of the men she had killed, back to haunt her thoughts. Perhaps she was just exhausted and wasn't thinking straight. She turned her gaze to look at the scabbard, just close enough to make out fine black etches on its weathered surface.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Montaigne?" Elsa strode over to her bed and pulled a silk robe over her chiffon nightgown to present some semblance of modesty.

"You called for me, miss?"

"Come in, please." She seated herself on the bed, but not before drawing out the desk's chair and placing it close by, to give the master servant a place to sit as well. She hated it when he stood in her presence, like all he was to her was a servant.

Her friend strode into the chamber, bearing a tray with a pot of tea. It smelled surprisingly strong, caffeinated. He expected the conversation to take some time.

"What can I do for you, miss?" Montaigne quickly poured a cup for the queen, and then one for himself, placing the tray on the desk and then taking the seat that had been offered to him.

Elsa cradled the cup for a moment, considering the best way to approach the topic. "When I was talking to Wulfric Shaw earlier…"

"He told you that I have a story to tell about your father."

Elsa looked up with surprise. Montaigne had been one of the frozen ones whilst they were talking; surely he couldn't have –

"Shaw spoke to me, before he left, miss."

"Good. I'm ready to listen. But I want you to answer me one question."

"Anything at all, miss."

"Why haven't you told me this before, if it's important?" Elsa took a sip of her tea. It scalded her throat, but it felt nice. Grounding. Real.

"Two reasons. First, your father Agnarr had sworn me to silence on the whole affair, for reasons that will become clear to you in the process of its telling. I value my word, but it is more important now that you know the truth. Second, when Shaw spoke with me today, he told me many things about this story that I did not know, despite my remembrance of the events themselves. What was once merely a curious event is now part of a grander truth, one that we discover together."

Elsa nodded, slowly.

"It is odd, I think, how often the world proves itself to work in exceeding coincidences. This tale certainly proves itself to be one of those." Montaigne smiled in a familiar way, leaning back in his chair and weaving his hands together contemplatively before beginning the tale. "The story I am about to tell you is the story of a curse. Not just any curse, mind you, but _your_ curse. This, Elsa, is the story of how you came to be born a witch."


End file.
